


I Got Soul but I'm Not a Soldier

by starandrea



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-04
Updated: 2010-12-04
Packaged: 2017-10-13 12:50:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 100,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/137551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starandrea/pseuds/starandrea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: Castiel is on the road (saving people, helping things) when he meets Dean and realizes that his soul is different - and not just because he's the pastor's son.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Music: Title from the Killers' "All These Things That I've Done." Other songs in the story include "Hark! The Herald Angels Sing," "Rusty Chevrolet," Trans Siberian Orchestra's "This Christmas Day," Ludo's "Topeka," Led Zeppelin's "Stairway to Heaven," and AC/DC's "Highway to Hell." Songs sung at church or youth study include "Right Now" by This Beautiful Republic, "The Altar and the Door" by Casting Crowns, "Pray For You" by Jaron & the Long Road to Love, "Always the Love Songs" by the Eli Young Band, and "Open Up Your Eyes" by Jeremy Camp. Finally, Castiel and Dean reference lyrics from "Airplanes" as remixed by heathyr, and the kids sing "You Are My Sunshine," "My Name Is You" from Sesame Street, and of course "Puff the Magic Dragon."

**1 December**

The clock on the dashboard read one minute past midnight when the car rolled into town. It looked black on the unlit streets, and the swath of light clearing the road past the church wasn’t enough to show otherwise. The sign outside the church read, “This is a good sign.”

The driver was looking for someone to save, and he didn’t stop for church signs. He hadn’t found the someone yet, but he was close enough that his surroundings mattered again. External temperature read 24 degrees and the night was dark enough that he knew there weren’t any clouds. Nothing to catch the light of neighboring towns and throw it back: only the cold of the stars and the void beyond.

The town was big enough to have a church. He supposed that would help his cause, if there was community enough to gather and exchange news. Word traveled too fast in places like this, but any smaller and they didn’t talk to strangers. He still didn’t know who he was here to find.

The GPS blinked politely at him, telling him to turn right, and he was tempted to just keep going. To drive by, to drive on, to roll his wheels through the night like wings. What was one more person, after all? There would always be another, and another after that. He would never reach them all in time.

Some would die while he was saving this one.

He turned right, and the green line straightened with the spin of the car. The device didn’t speak, but its directions were very clear: “3.3 mi” and “right turn” and “DESTINATION.” He let the car slide into a space near the door, wondering if the place had cleared out last Friday, or if they’d trickled away over the course of the weekend.

The post-Thanksgiving, pre-Christmas travelers’ lull. It made finding a room easier.

The lobby was bright and clean but the desk was empty. He would have rung the bell, except that there were three key cards lined up in a row with a note that read, “Check in before you check out. God bless.”

He took the key for room 19 and went to do some research.

 **1 December again, but lighter**

It was the church, of course. Some sort of karmic irony that the place he most needed to be was the focus of the town’s divinity. He made sure to be seen getting breakfast in the middle of town before he left his car by the bagel place and walked over to the church. He had been assured by Alison that the pastor would be there between eight and ten – so parents of school-age children could stop in after dropping the kids off, she said.

He wasn’t sure whether she was joking or not, but she had been so helpful that it seemed rude to ask.

She wasn’t wrong. At least not about the pastor, whom he met outside beneath the sign before he even made it to the church building proper. The words from last night still stood, but the assessing look being leveled at the sign made him think a change was coming.

“Hello,” he called, lifting a hand in greeting.

He got a grin and a friendly wave in return. “Hi, son!” the man called out. “Beautiful day!”

The weather was pleasant, certainly. The clear skies of the night before persisted, now serving to warm the air instead of cool it, and the ground was solid beneath his feet. Frosted but not entirely frozen, buried under the layer of leaves that lined the streets and covered every open surface save those currently being raked.

“It is,” he agreed, coming to a halt beside the man wearing a sensible work coat and fingerless gloves. “Are you Pastor John?”

“Sure am,” the man agreed cheerfully. He held out his hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“My name is Castiel,” he offered, clasping the outstretched hand. “The church sent me. I understand your roof is in need of repair before the snow comes.”

“Castiel,” the pastor repeated. “You’re very welcome, sir. I didn’t think they could spare anyone until spring; we’ve already patched the roof as best we can in the meantime.”

He’d been prepared to show credentials, give some proof of identity other than his word, but he wouldn’t offer them if they weren’t requested. “I’m a recent volunteer, Pastor. When I returned from the service, I found my previous employment was no longer suitable.”

“Call me John,” the man said. “And doing God’s work is a good way to heal; take it from someone who knows. Care for some coffee? Why don’t you come inside and we’ll talk about your situation.”

“I’m not ready to talk about... many things,” Castiel said carefully.

The man waved it off. “Your personal life is your personal life, son. Whatever brings you here is your business, but now that you’ve shown up on my doorstep, I need to make sure you’re fed. You got a place to stay?”

“Yes,” Castiel said. “I have a room at the Three Birds.”

“You eat this morning?” John persisted.

“I ate just up the street.” He gestured vaguely in the direction he’d left his car. “A young woman named Alison made some excellent menu recommendations.”

“Ah, Alison.” This seemed to satisfy the pastor. “Well, come in then, and we’ll haul out what you’ll need to get at the thing. Then you tell me what you think about its chances. We’ve been putting up with the roof the way it is for a long time now, so try not to look too shocked.”

“I’m sure I’ve seen worse,” Castiel said.

This got him an assessing look, along the lines of the consideration Pastor John had given the sign earlier. “Yes,” he agreed, but it was a tone free of either pity or shame. “I’m sure you have.”

The roof, as it turned out, was in very good shape. Not for its intended function of keeping the structure below it dry, warm, and sheltered from the coming winter, though the patch job John had mentioned was respectable. It was in good shape for his hands, which were after all only two: he would be able to do most of the work himself, asking for a minimum of assistance, but it would take enough time that he could find what he was looking for and offer what protection he had to give.

The former occurred more quickly than he’d anticipated. He spent the morning cataloguing the extent of the damage, the location of internal and external sources of electricity, and the supplies available. By the time the afternoon came to an end, he had started some judicious and necessary demolition.

John didn’t question the noise, the mess, or the apparent disaster when he returned with the sunset and asked Castiel to stop. “I don’t want to tell you how to work,” he said, “but it must be getting near quitting time up here. I’d be honored if you’d join me and my sons for dinner this evening.”

Castiel beat some of the dust out of his clothing with his gloves and shook his head. “You’re very kind, Pastor, but I’m afraid I’m not appropriate company.”

“Nonsense,” John said. “It’s informal; just me and my wife, our boys, and whoever they drag along with them this week. We’re all basically well-behaved, and we won’t be sitting down for another hour or so. Plenty of time to get cleaned up. You and me both.”

There was no reason to say no and every reason to say yes. He was meant to be at the church, so he was likely looking for someone associated with John’s family. He needed to eat. And the town would be more welcoming if he made it clear he was willing to accept their hospitality.

Stowing the equipment took the better part of half an hour. Anchoring the tarp took the rest of it, and by the time he made it back to the room he’d checked in to, he didn’t have time to take a shower. He did anyway, setting aside his work clothes afterwards. The town was small enough that he’d already driven past the laundromat twice; he would pay it a visit at the end of the week.

He called the number John had given him before leaving his room, apologizing for his tardiness and letting him know he was on his way. _“No problem,”_ John told him over the phone. _“We’ll still waiting on my youngest. The food’ll be ready when you get here.”_

What he actually found when he got there was Dean. The man he had come for. The man he was supposed to save, standing there in the middle of John’s kitchen, laughing and waving around a bottle of beer and looking very much... alive.

“This is Castiel,” Pastor John was saying. “He’s spent all day working on the roof at the church, so go easy on him. Castiel, this is my wife, Jeannie.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Jeannie told him, and he was looking at her. He knew he was, because she was smiling, and surely if he was staring as intently at Dean as he wanted to be then Dean’s mother would not think it was such a pleasure.

“And you also,” he said automatically. She hadn’t held out her hand, so he didn’t offer his.

“And my son, Dean,” John continued, and finally he was allowed to look.

Dean was watching him over the lip of his beer bottle, held up in front of his mouth but not pressed to it, not in motion at all. As though he’d forgotten he was about to drink from it. He was tall, taller than Castiel, but otherwise unremarkable. He was almost unreasonably ordinary looking.

As though he’d been put here specifically to blend in.

“Hi,” Dean said abruptly, lowering his beer and switching it to his other hand so he could reach for Castiel’s. “Thanks for, uh, everything you’re doing to the roof. Of the church. I mean, Dad says it looks great.”

“Yes,” Castiel agreed, grasping his hand firmly and registering everything all at once: the leftover chill from the bottle, the thin damp of condensation on his skin, the way those fingers squeezed back without hesitation. “I assure you that your father is lying. It looks much worse than it did this morning.”

Dean laughed. His face relaxed and his eyes dropped and Castiel saw, just for an instant, a man he would give up everything for. A man who might be the last he ever saved.

But that was ridiculous. He didn’t have anything. There would always be another beyond this one. To think that this vagrant life of his could end was to imagine his own death, and he wasn’t ready for that.

He was smiling, Castiel realized. He didn’t notice until Dean looked up and caught his eye again, grinning back at him even as he tugged his hand free. “That’s great, man. I have faith in you. You want a beer or something?”

“Yes,” Castiel said, because Dean was asking. He added, “Thank you,” before he was even sure what he’d agreed to.

“Just to clear my name,” John put in, “I said it _will_ look great.”

“You must have done some construction work, Castiel,” Jeannie added, moving out of John’s way as he pulled the oven open. He wasn’t as busy as Castiel expected someone preparing food to be, so he assumed it was indeed ready and John was simply checking on it.

“I’ve done a little bit of everything,” he said. Dean was pulling a second beer out of the refrigerator, and Castiel wished he’d paid more attention to the question. He disliked beer.

“Hey, Dad, you’ve been grocery shopping,” Dean said. “Cas, you got choices: beer, light beer, root beer, some kind of lemon-lime soda – Dad, is this ginger ale? Are you planning a party, or what?”

“Sam’s bringing Sarah.” John said it as though it was an answer to Dean’s question. “I try, I do, but I can never guess what she’ll be drinking from one week to the next.”

“Aw, she just does that to mess with Sam,” Dean said. “She’ll drink whatever you have.” He held up two bottles in Castiel’s direction, weighing them – one in each hand, as though they were trying to balance each other – and lifted his chin in clear question.

“I’ll have a root beer,” Castiel said carefully. He could see that neither of the bottles Dean was holding was root beer, but John had certainly indicated that all of the choices Dean offered were intended for guests. “If you don’t mind.”

“Done,” Dean said. He slid both bottles back into the refrigerator and pulled out a third, popping the top before passing it to Castiel. “To new friends,” he added, lifting his own beer before Castiel could take a sip.

“Here, here,” Jeannie said, reaching for a glass on the counter behind her.

“To new friends,” John called, from the far side of a table covered with six place settings.

It had been done, but Dean wasn’t drinking. So Castiel repeated the toast, tapped his bottle against Dean’s when he held it out, and couldn’t help watching as Dean tipped his head back and swallowed. “Thank you,” he said belatedly.

The timing was perhaps poor, but Dean didn’t seem to think anything of it. “Sure thing,” he said. “Hey, you don’t sing by any chance, do you?”

There was the sound of footsteps outside, and all conversation seemed to pause long enough for the knock to be heard. Then the turning of the doorknob, and John was off to hustle them – him? – inside. Castiel glanced at Dean and found him still waiting for an answer.

“Not well,” he said. “I’m afraid I’m not musically gifted.”

“But do you like it?” Dean insisted. “Music is music, man, it’s a joyful noise. If you like it, it doesn’t matter how you sound. It just matters how we all sound together.”

“Dean’s recruiting for the choir,” Jeannie said with a laugh. “You’re probably best off just letting him hear you sing, or he’ll ask you every Sunday for a month.”

Castiel was surprised to realize he wouldn’t mind. It wasn’t the most invasive threat, of course, but he had no reason to think he’d be here as long as a month and no desire to be pressured toward someone else’s goal. That was why he’d set himself on this path to begin with.

Yet... at the moment, neither time nor motive truly bothered him.

“I won’t,” Dean was saying. “You say no, I totally get that, okay?

“But,” he added, and he looked like he wanted to smile, “you don’t say no, and I assume you’re thinking maybe yes. _Then_ I’ll ask you every Sunday pretty much until the end of time.”

“That’s a long time,” Castiel said. He couldn’t find it in himself to be more annoyed than amused.

“Don’t I know it,” Dean agreed, holding Castiel’s gaze as he lifted his beer to his lips again.

“And this is Castiel,” John declared. The conversation from the door was finally enough to drown them out, mostly through proximity, and the pastor must now be introducing him to his “youngest.”

“Doing great work on the roof,” John added. “Castiel, my son, Sam, and his lovely companion, Sarah.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Castiel offered. Sam was even taller than Dean, remarkable in ways his older brother wasn’t, and it was something of a relief. As was the woman with him – companion? He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to make of that description.

“You too,” Sarah said, beaming. She stepped in close to offer Dean a brief hug, and Castiel stared as their arms closed around each other. They let go quickly. Sam was grinning when they pulled apart.

“Nice to meet you too, man.” Sam’s informal address, unlike his appearance, was very like Dean. Castiel was surprised to be the recipient of it after the greeting Sarah had given Dean, and he wondered if Sam had been grinning at him. He didn’t think that made any sense, but it was possible that Dean’s proximity was distracting him to some degree.

“Where’s Jess?” Dean wanted to know. “She couldn’t make it?”

“Working,” Sam said, making a face. “We can only drag her away once or twice a week before she starts to get even by setting her alarm earlier and earlier in the morning.”

“She’s got a big day tomorrow,” Sarah said. “She’s already going to be up insanely early.”

Jeannie inquired further about “Jess,” but Castiel’s attention was once again taken by Dean. He thought the man might have misinterpreted his surprise at their initial encounter – and possibly the fascination he still couldn’t seem to shake – but he didn’t want to say so in case he was wrong. Or perhaps Dean would simply believe him and back off, and he was concerned that somehow that seemed worse.

Not concerned enough to ignore Dean’s head tilt, inviting him further back from the Jess conversation so that they might continue to talk. To each other. Castiel typically spent more time observing than interacting, so it was difficult for him to say whether this was normal or not. The rest of Dean’s family treated it as though it was. That, at least, reassured him that he wouldn’t get asked to leave before he retrieved some potentially vital contact information.

Which he already had. He was very thorough in his research. But being given the information by Dean himself would make using it much more acceptable.

“Dad says you’re pro bono,” Dean was saying. Not as though he was deeply curious. “You need anything, you let me know, okay? This is a small town; we’ve got each other’s backs.”

“I’ve seen that,” Castiel said. “You leave hotel keys out for the taking. You invite strangers to dinner. There’s even free coffee at the bagel place near the church.”

Dean made a show of looking around the kitchen, gaze coming back to rest on Castiel in a matter of seconds. “You see any strangers here?” he asked. “’Cause I don’t. Guess you’ll have to point them out to me.”

Castiel pointed to himself without a word.

Dean reached out to tap his bottle against Castiel’s again. “Sharing a drink,” he said. “Meeting the family. Hanging out in a guy’s kitchen: that, right there, bumps you past the ‘stranger’ level to at least ‘trusted acquaintance.’”

“I haven’t had a kitchen for some time,” Castiel remarked. Then he tried to close his mouth, but it was already closed. He had no idea why he’d said that. It was true, but it was hardly relevant.

Dean dismissed this with little care. “All you really need’s a microwave,” he said. “But that makes wherever you put it a ‘trusted acquaintance’ zone, so you should be careful with that.”

Castiel pretended to consider this. “I believe you may safely enter the place where I’m staying,” he said. “It does have a microwave, but I haven’t used it, and I’m sure the innkeeper would consider you a more trustworthy client than I.”

“Nah,” Dean said. “We spread the trust around, here. Also, did you just ask me to move in on our first date?”

Castiel managed to extract the joke without letting an undue amount of time pass. More important than responding in kind, though, seemed to be the part that might not be untrue. “I believe in dramatic gestures,” he said lightly.

Dean laughed again, which was at once gratifying and somehow, secretly, disappointing. He hadn’t thought it would be that easy. But it had been a long time since he’d saved someone with a soul like this.

“I think,” Castiel added, swirling his root beer idly and feeling it slide up against the walls of the bottle, “that I am very lucky to have come here.”

“Yeah,” Dean said with a grin. A bright, mischievous grin that failed to be offensive in any way. “Me too.”

 **2 December**

Castiel woke up alone. This wasn’t a particular surprise to him, since he’d gone to bed alone. His gaze went to the microwave, though, and he wondered if pastor’s sons had one night stands.

Or flings. It wasn’t unreasonable to expect a fling, was it?

He didn’t see Dean at all that day.

 **3 December**

Friday dawned grey and miserable and the weather got worse from there. His fingers were cold through his work gloves and he had to work around and under the tarps in case precipitation began suddenly. There were things exposed that shouldn’t have any contact with water. With the temperature he thought snow felt more likely, but the radio Pastor John had lent him continued to call for freezing rain, and he had no reason not to plan for the worst.

There always seemed to be someone at the church. He didn’t know if the community had some kind of caretaker program in place or if they were just keeping an eye on him, but whatever the reason, he wasn’t surprised to hear footsteps shortly before noon. He didn’t bother calling out. The noise made him easy to find.

What did surprise him was the sound of Dean’s voice calling instead. He almost banged his head on a rafter in his eagerness to get out from under the eaves. “Dean?”

“Yeah, hey,” Dean said, ducking around things and carefully not touching the tarps overhead. He was dressed a lot better than he had been when Castiel met him two days ago, but he didn’t seem to pay any attention to his clothes as he climbed through the construction detritus. “I was driving back through town for work and I thought I’d see how it’s going up here.”

Castiel opened his mouth to give him an update, but Dean just shook his head.

“Actually, what I mean is,” he amended, “I was driving through and I wanted to see how you are. I don’t really care about the roof. So.”

Castiel smiled. “I’m well,” he said. “The weather is unpleasant today, but the radio keeps me company and the work is going smoothly enough.”

“Radio’s not bad company,” Dean agreed. “Rather have my own music, though.”

“What do you listen to?” Castiel asked curiously. The day was already better for Dean’s presence, and he didn’t want to ask about Dean’s work in case it reminded him that he wasn’t staying long. Music was an acceptable conversational gambit.

He hadn’t realized it would launch a half-hour explanation of what Dean called “the classics,” complete with examples, singing (surprisingly good), and air guitar. If he had realized, of course, he would have asked sooner.

Finally Dean looked at his watch and winced. “Man, I’m sorry,” he said, which was the last reaction Castiel wanted. Then he added, “If I’d planned to talk your ear off, I would’ve at least offered to buy you lunch.”

Castiel brightened. “I’ll take a raincheck,” he suggested.

Dean grinned. “How about dinner? I dunno if you have plans tonight, but we’re gonna light up the town tree about seven-thirty. We could eat, watch the lighting after, if you’re interested.”

“I am,” Castiel said. “I would enjoy that very much.”

“Any food preferences?” Dean asked. “You’re not vegetarian, allergic, hate Chinese?”

“I don’t like Indian food,” Castiel said. Mostly because he knew it was common to have some kind of preference, and this one seemed unlikely to rule out anything Dean might suggest.

“No problem,” Dean agreed. “Can I pick you up around five-thirty?”

“Yes,” Castiel said. “I’ll be ready.”

And he would have been, had Dean actually waited until five-thirty. He was at the Three Birds, pulling on his jacket when the knock on the door came. He wasn’t expecting anyone except Dean, and he’d assumed Dean would wait outside. But when he pulled the door open, of course, there was Dean with his hands in his pockets and a disarming smile on his face.

“Hi,” Dean said. “Can I come in?”

“Hello,” Castiel replied, stepping back from the door. “Of course.”

“Sharon told me which room you were in,” Dean said. He shuffled inside, not taking his hands out of his pockets, but Castiel saw his sharp gaze slide over everything in the room. “Hope you don’t mind me just showing up on your doorstep like this. Consequences of a small town, right?”

“Indeed,” Castiel said, since it seemed to be expected. He had to add, “I like it.”

“Yeah?” Dean caught his eye. “You from a small town?”

He hadn’t asked anything specific, Castiel noted. Not before and not now: he wasn’t even asking exactly where Castiel was from, whether it be where he grew up (elsewhere) or where he currently called home (nowhere). It was still a bit of a prod, a gentle check to see if Castiel would give anything up, but it wasn’t nosy or demanding.

Castiel didn’t mean to reveal anything, but he found himself admitting, “Not really. It’s nice to have people care about you, though. Everyone in this town has been very kind.”

“We like to make people feel at home,” Dean agreed. His gaze went back to the kitchenette, and a smile made his lips quirk again. “Hey, how close can I get to the microwave?”

He could use the microwave if he wanted to, but Castiel supposed that in the context of Dean’s insinuation, that might be going to far. “You may use it if you wish,” he said, before he could stop himself.

“Yeah?” The grin Dean gave him was full of meaning that wasn’t particularly secretive. “I think using someone else’s kitchen is a little beyond ‘trusted acquaintance,’ Cas.”

Castiel smiled back at him. “I’m pleased to hear that.”

Dean stepped toward him, and Castiel tried to remember if he’d been smiling since he got here. He sometimes forgot, and it did seem to have taken Dean by surprise. But no, he was sure he wouldn’t have gotten all the way through dinner at Pastor John’s without remembering that smiling helped to set people at ease.

“Cas,” Dean said, then paused. “Can I call you Cas? I didn’t ask if you mind people shortening your name.”

“I don’t mind when you do it,” Castiel told him.

“Cas,” Dean repeated, and Castiel smiled again. He was happy to have Dean repeat his name – or any variation thereof – as many times as he pleased. “There’s a couple things you should know about me, okay? I shouldn’t tell you this before we go out to dinner, ’cause that kind of makes it a bigger thing, and I’m not trying to, like, stalk you or anything. But I like to be up front.”

“As do I,” Castiel agreed.

“I’m gay,” Dean said bluntly. “I’m also my father’s son. You know what I do, I go around and I tell people to make good life choices and I can’t do that unless I’m a role model myself. I don’t do one night stands, but I date, and I’d like to date you if you’ll let me.”

Castiel stared at him, trying to decide whether it was his life that made his soul so bright or if it was his soul that made his life so bright. He couldn’t figure out where the cycle started, but he thought he could stare at that light for a long time without wanting to look away. He thought he probably already had. It wasn’t enough.

“Also, I talk a lot,” Dean said. “Sometimes too much. Was that too much?”

Castiel found himself laughing for the first time in too long. “That was in no way too much,” he said, delighted by the chagrin and the relief and so far, everything Dean did. “I appreciate your desire to be a role model. I won’t lie and say that more than dating hasn’t crossed my mind, but make your boundaries clear and I will respect them. I would very much like to spend time with you, in any capacity.”

“Hey,” Dean said, clearly relaxing into his grin. “What do you know. You talk too much too. We’re perfect for each other.”

Yes, Castiel thought. They were, and more than Dean knew.

“You ready to go?” Dean was asking. “The Harvelles run the best restaurant in town, and for some reason they like me, so I’m pretty sure we can get something to eat in time to make the lighting.”

After hearing Dean talk about “classic” music on what had turned out to be his entire lunch break, Castiel probably shouldn’t have been surprised to see his car. He was, though. Somehow. He didn’t know much about old cars – or even about new ones, although he knew his own was distinctive – but he recognized that Dean’s was in very good condition. He also understood that Dean was very proud of it.

He asked what he hoped was an inoffensive but inviting introductory question: “How did you come by your car?” and Dean seemed just as willing to extol the virtues of classic cars as he had been to talk to Castiel about music. His enthusiasm was soothing, in an oddly atypical way.

“So my dad gets to keep an eye on it,” Dean concluded, after explaining that his father had bought it used before he and Dean’s mother married, then kept it after they divorced. The car had come to Dean on his eighteenth birthday. “Which gives him something else to give me advice on, but he’s never tried to keep Mom from driving it when her car’s in the shop, so I figure he’s probably entitled.”

“It seems to be in excellent condition,” Castiel offered. “I can’t imagine that he finds much advice to offer.”

Dean snorted, but he sounded amused. “He’s my dad. He’s got advice as long as my arm. Mom’s the one who lets us make our own mistakes. She doesn’t talk to her parents anymore, so she’s always said as long as we come home for Christmas, anything else we do is forgiven.”

“Your mother sounds very wise,” Castiel said. He already knew she lived in town, so he didn’t worry about where Dean might be going or when.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, turning into what looked like a mostly full parking lot. “She’s awesome. You should meet her; she’d love you. She likes people who aren’t noisy about their religion, you know what I mean?”

“No,” Castiel said. “She did marry a pastor, did she not?”

“Nope,” Dean said. He was scanning for a parking space big enough to park his “baby.” “Dad went to seminary after they got married. She was great about it at first, but I think he got a little too interested for her. Dad doesn’t really do things halfway. It can be kind of hard to live with.”

Castiel didn’t think parking a car Dean was this familiar with was as difficult as the attention he was giving it made it seem. “I’m sure it just takes the right person,” he murmured.

Dean huffed out a half-laugh, but it sounded a little sad. “I guess,” he said. “Jeannie doesn’t seem to mind.”

Castiel stopped short of mentioning that he wouldn’t mind, either.

Harvelle’s was crowded. It was, Castiel knew, the only place in town to get prepared food past lunch time, so he supposed that wasn’t a surprise. He also wasn’t surprised that Dean was recognized immediately, and they were seated ahead of the three groups already in line when they walked through the door.

“Because there are only two of you,” they were told, as a young woman walked them into the restaurant proper. The look Dean gave him, however, said that this was not entirely true. Castiel could only assume that Dean intrigued everyone else at least as much as he charmed Castiel.

They were seated by the window, and Jo introduced herself before offering to get them something to drink. Dean asked for water, so Castiel followed his lead, and Dean waited until Jo had gone to ask if Castiel got cold easily. “Silly thing to ask, I guess,” he said, when Castiel gave him an odd look. “But, you know. The window, in winter...”

He trailed off, and Castiel raised an eyebrow at him. “How many people do you bring here?” he asked, more amused than offended. “Do your dates often complain that the temperature isn’t worth the view?”

“Um,” Dean said. “Maybe some of them. And they’re not all dates,” he hurried to add. “I have to take a lot of people out for, uh, business reasons, or for – well. Sometimes it’s easier for people to talk over food, right?”

“Do you think I need to talk?” Castiel asked curiously.

“I don’t know,” Dean said. “Maybe.”

He didn’t say anything else, and Castiel tried not to be disappointed. It was just another job, really, just another thing to do to justify his existence. But he was relatively sure that Dean wasn’t in immediate danger, and it would have been nice to enjoy his company for a short time before he had to do what he came to do and move on.

“Cas,” Dean said, studying his expression. “When I take people out just to talk, I don’t call it dating.”

Castiel looked up at him, unaware that he’d looked away until he realized he’d been staring at his place setting. It was possible that being around Dean was making him reveal rather more in the way of emotion than he was used to. Not that he was feeling emotional. Emotional cues, then. Things other people would interpret as emotion.

“Look,” Dean said. “Obviously that was the wrong thing to say. But I talk, Cas. That’s what I do. That’s what I’ve made my life doing. I like to make other people’s lives better – I wouldn’t go as far as to calling it saving people; that’s more my dad’s thing. But whatever you call it, people can come out of a good conversation feeling like they’ve been to confession. Like they’ve shared something about themselves that they were afraid to tell anyone, and now all of a sudden they’ve done it and it was okay, you know? Like they’re forgiven.”

“I’m not religious,” Castiel blurted out. He hadn’t meant to say that, and he had certainly misled the pastor when he first arrived. On purpose. Of course that would have been passed on to Dean, and he was fine with that, until Dean started acting like he expected to connect on some spiritual level. Which just couldn’t happen.

Dean just smiled. “That your confession? That you go around volunteering with the church, and you don’t believe?”

“There are things that I believe,” Castiel muttered. He was trapped, now. “Few of them have anything to do with the church.”

“You’re not exactly alone in that,” Dean pointed out. “Religion isn’t everything. Sometimes it isn’t anything. All we are is what we do while we’re here, Cas. You’re doing good things. You don’t have to believe in God for that to be true.”

He did believe in God. He believed that God existed, and that he was a bastard, and that was the end of it. But there was no way he was going to say that to someone like Dean. “You’re very kind,” he said instead. “I see why people like to talk to you.”

“Hey,” Dean said. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I wanted to date, okay? This isn’t just about you unless you want it to be; I’m not trying to sneak into your psyche or anything. I’m lonely. The holidays are coming. I want someone to hang out with, and you seem like you could use a friend. I figured we might be able to help each other out.”

Castiel looked up in time to see Jo turn away – he extrapolated her previous course from the shift of her motion, and concluded that she had been on her way back to them when she got close enough to hear what Dean was saying. Why she had decided not to interrupt was a question he didn’t have enough information to answer. Either Dean did this often enough that she knew when to leave him to it, or Dean did it rarely enough that she didn’t want to ruin it for him.

Or Dean never did it, and she was surprised to hear the words coming out of his mouth. Castiel told himself that this was implausible, given Dean’s obvious ability to connect to anyone and everyone. “You’re clearly a social man,” he heard himself say. “I find it unlikely that you’re unable to procure more suitable company than mine.”

Dean looked over his shoulder, following Castiel’s gaze in time to see Jo walking away. “Hey,” he said, turning back to the table. “Maybe I should have asked this before, but am I totally wrong about the way you swing? You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t interested, right?”

Castiel’s eyes snapped back to his. Dean looked – not hurt. Carefully not hurt, and he realized that his stare had been misinterpreted. “I have no gender preference,” he said. “I’m interested in your attitude, openness, and...” Soul, he wanted to say. But that would definitely give the wrong impression, especially given what he’d said about religion. “Charisma,” he finished awkwardly.

“Are you a player?” Dean wanted to know. He smiled to make it clear he was teasing, but Castiel could tell he wasn’t. “You just using me to get in good with the rest of the locals?”

“Dean,” Castiel said. “How long do you expect me to be here?”

“Okay.” Dean held up his hands in surrender. “Point taken.”

“We should order,” Castiel said, glancing at the menus Jo had left on the corner of the table when she seated them. It occurred to him that Dean hadn’t worried about his extended lunch break because everyone must be used to this from him: it was entirely possible that all of his conversations turned into a giant distraction from whatever he’d been meant to be doing.

“Right,” Dean agreed, reaching over to pass him a menu.

He spent a moment skimming the options before Dean cleared his throat and asked, “Uh, so. How long do you expect to be here?”

Castiel looked up again, and Dean shrugged self-deprecatingly. “I don’t really know anything about what you’re doing up there, except that it looks more complicated than just replacing struts and reshingling. And I dunno how long you usually plan to stay in the places you go, so.”

“I stay as long as I have to in order to get the job done,” Castiel told him. “In this case... I’m not certain exactly how long it will take.”

“More than a week?” Dean persisted. “Less than a month?”

“Yes,” Castiel said.

“Huh.” Dean didn’t look satisfied with this, but he didn’t ask again. “The appetizers here are awesome, by the way. It’s worth it to get a few of them and then box ’em up with the rest of your meal if you end up with too much. Then you can have ’em for breakfast the next day.”

Castiel wasn’t sure what possessed him to say it, but he commented before he could think. “Leftovers for breakfast? You’re not as respectable as you pretend.”

It made Dean laugh, and as such, it was worth it. “I know, right?” he agreed. “The only reason I bother is that it makes a good impression. If people already think you’re good and respectable and all that, then when you tell ’em you do all the silly things they do, it makes them feel like maybe they’re okay too. Like they could be a better person than they realized.”

Castiel paused, because that was pure compassion delivered in the most casual way possible. Compassion disguised as ego and self-consciousness and all the foibles mortal souls could be expected to carry. Forgiveness given human form. He didn’t know who this man was, but he had certainly chosen the right destination. This one could not be allowed to die.

“What do you like?” Dean was asking. “You want some recommendations, or are you a hands-off kind of dinner date?”

“Hi, boys,” Jo’s voice said cheerfully. She’d come up behind Castiel this time. “You want some more time?”

“Hey, Jo,” Dean greeted her. “I’m good, but I’ve got the advantage of having had everything on the menu before. Poor Cas keeps trying to listen to me talk; it’s distracting him from the awesomeness in front of him.”

“Yeah,” Jo said, rolling her eyes. “You’re so much more awesome than our food; I can see why he’d be confused.”

Dean smirked up at her. “You know what it’s like. How’s school? Haven’t destroyed anyone else’s thesis, have you?”

“What, since last weekend?” Jo put a hand on her hip. “When would I have had time?”

“You’re a miracle-worker, Jo, what can I say.” Dean grinned, and Castiel could feel his eyes on him, maybe ready to share the joke. He didn’t look up, though, and instead Dean asked, “Can we get some stuffed mushrooms and curly fries? We’re gonna try and get to the lighting after.”

“Sure thing,” Jo said. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

“You know everyone,” Castiel said, glancing at the next page of the menu without seeing it.

“Pretty much,” Dean agreed. “It’s that kind of town, and I’ve lived here my whole life. I can tell you anything you want to know,” he said, putting both his arms on the table as he leaned forward. “Including who makes the best fudge in town.”

It was such an innocent offer that Castiel couldn’t help lifting his head. He found Dean’s face very close to his. “Who makes the best fudge in town?” he asked, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say when confronted with those green eyes so close.

“Amy Miller,” Dean said. “She’ll have some at the craft fair tomorrow, and then again at the hayride next weekend. Definitely worth looking for. She says it keeps well, but no one’s ever been able to test it, because who would keep it when they could be eating it?”

“I see,” Castiel said, trying not look at his mouth. It was harder than it should have been. “That’s good advice, then.”

Dean smiled at him. “If we weren’t in the middle of a crowded restaurant, I would totally try to kiss you right now.”

“Maybe later,” Castiel murmured. He suddenly wished they weren’t in a restaurant at all, except that it was entirely possible that Dean’s idea of a proper date would keep them together longer than some inappropriate intimacy.

“I’ll pretend that’s a promise,” Dean said, not drawing away. “It’ll give me something else to look forward to.”

“Something else?” Castiel wasn’t going to move if Dean didn’t.

“I’m already with you, aren’t I?”

“You’re unbelievable,” Castiel said. He didn’t mean for the words to come out rudely, and he hoped he sounded as wondering as he felt. “Why are you lonely? I just... I can’t understand it.”

“Oh, you’re perfect,” Dean said with a huff of laughter that warmed Castiel’s skin over the too-large distance between them. “I don’t get why _you’re_ alone. What are you even doing here? Why am I this lucky?”

Because you have an angel watching over you, Castiel wanted to say. The fact that he almost did say it made him straighten up, pulling away from Dean quickly. He’d already said several things he hadn’t meant to this evening, and the fact that Dean hadn’t minded could only lower his guard further. He needed to be more careful.

“Just good timing,” he murmured, letting his eyes drop to Dean’s mouth before lifting to his eyes again. Hoping to give some excuse for his abrupt withdrawal. “I guess,” he added vaguely. He suspected that the more uncomfortable he seemed, the more solicitous Dean would become.

“Yeah?” Dean’s voice, as expected, was gentle even as he sat up straight on the other side of the table again. “I guess sometimes everyone gets what they want for Christmas.”

He sounded light, joking, but he was as serious now as he had been all evening, and Castiel wondered if Dean hid everything he felt by pretending to hide nothing. There were things that could be shared without being believed. If Dean seemed a little too perfect, maybe it was because he made people think that he thought he was. If he acted like he thought he was perfect, it gave everyone else permission to believe they were good too – but it didn’t prove that Dean thought the same about himself.

“Do you believe what you say?” Castiel asked suddenly.

Dean frowned a little. “Yes?”

“About yourself,” Castiel said. “You say you want other people to think they’re okay. Do you think you’re okay?”

Dean stared at him for a long moment, and Castiel thought he was about to say something that was important. But then he shook his head, and smiled, and his reply was no more or less than Castiel had expected. “Everyone doubts themselves sometimes, Cas. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

So, Castiel filled in the blank: no. There _were_ things Dean didn’t say, things he worried about that he didn’t share. Things he was afraid of that he didn’t want other people to have to deal with. He was no more baring his soul to Castiel than Castiel was returning the favor.

On the other hand, Castiel had the advantage of knowing it. He assumed that most of Dean’s dates were, in fact, blinded by that confident smile. “I think I would like some recommendations,” he said. “From the menu, I mean.”

Dean spoke as enthusiastically about food as he did about everything else, but Castiel didn’t miss the slight relaxation that followed his request. Dean had been afraid that Castiel would press, would turn the tables on him and ask him to talk. About whatever he didn’t talk about. In all honesty, Castiel couldn’t imagine what it was, given that Dean seemed willing to answer any question, but apparently there was something.

He wondered if it was worth risking Dean’s brief friendship to find out what it was.

By the time they were done with (a truly excellent) dinner, he’d decided that it wasn’t something he needed to decide today. It was possible that his decision had something to do with how beautiful Dean looked when he was happy. And he did seem to be happy, despite his earlier claim of loneliness. Just an excuse, Castiel wondered? A reason to explain away his friendliness to a stranger, an island of different and new in this sea of familiarity? Something to get Castiel talking so that Dean could do what he apparently did best: make him feel better about himself?

“We really should do dessert,” Dean said. “But we’ll miss the lighting. I’m pretty sure they’d forgive us if we told them it was because of Ellen’s pie...” He hesitated long enough to convince Castiel that he was genuinely torn.

“I am willing to take your word when it comes to the higher priority activity,” he offered.

Dean didn’t look any more certain with that declaration. “Great,” he said with a rueful laugh. “Make me the one to choose. Pie, or tree... This isn’t easy, Cas.”

“Is Dean having his nightly pie crisis?” Jo asked, sliding their boxed up leftovers onto the table between them. Dean had insisted that they order more than they eat, and Jo hadn’t seemed surprised when he asked to take food home with them afterward. “You’re welcome, I’ve solved your most predictable problem.”

“Why are there three boxes?” Dean asked, pulling them toward him and starting to open them up like he didn’t trust Jo to know. “There’s only two of us.”

“Your pie,” Jo said, with a long-suffering air. “Of course. Do you think I don’t know you or something?”

Dean already had the top box open and his face was a study in delight. “Jo! Have I told you lately that you’re my favorite person in the entire world?”

“Yeah, I know,” she said, rolling her eyes. It didn’t keep her from smiling. “Go to the tree lighting before your dad decides you don’t care about the community anymore and kicks you out of the choir. I heard about what you’re teaching the kids at Teen Bitch.”

“I’m teaching them the word of the lord,” Dean told her. “Also, my dad can’t kick me out, because I make the choir cool. I sing,” he added as an aside to Castiel. “I told you that, right?”

“You mentioned it once or twice,” Castiel agreed, amused. “What’s Teen Bitch?”

“Exactly what it sounds like,” Jo said.

“Youth counseling,” Dean said. “Once a week, in the evenings after school. It’s like bible study, except way more fun.”

“It’s nothing like bible study,” Jo said. “Trust me. I’ve been.”

“It sounds interesting,” Castiel said, mostly to keep them talking. Did Dean really spend his days driving from company to company as a workplace minister and then come home to talk to teenagers about religion? When he wasn’t, presumably, rehearsing for choir or helping strangers settle into town?

If Dean was indeed his father’s son, he was starting to comprehend more deeply what Dean had meant when he said the intensity was hard to live with. He was even more curious to meet Dean’s mother. If Dean and his brother ate dinner with their father once a week, did they also join their mother for a meal? Would he be invited along?

“It sounds like something Dean’s gonna kick my ass for talking about right now,” Jo was saying, and he was already looking at Dean so he didn’t miss the “cut” motion Dean made: very clearly, unmistakably trying to make Jo stop talking. “So I’ll let you go with your pie and enjoy the tree lighting. Come back soon.”

“Oh, like I won’t,” Dean scoffed, but Jo leveled a finger at him.

“Not just you,” she said. She turned the finger toward Castiel. “Him. Bring him back, Dean. I’m not kidding.”

“Now you care about my love life?” Dean looked, for the first time since Castiel had known him, genuinely surprised. Or maybe it was just a new expression, one that he wanted to be genuine surprise. Because he liked being considered part of someone’s love life.

“I always care about your love life,” Jo replied. “I just don’t always like the other half of your love life this much.” She gave Castiel a smile that he assumed was meant to be kind, so he smiled back.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Dean said, fumbling for his wallet. “Thanks for the pie. And thank Ellen for us.”

“No problem,” she said.

They drove back to the middle of town and left the car at the church. The dinner boxes stayed with it, but Jo had snuck plastic forks into the box with the pie, so that one came with them. “You gonna be warm enough?” Dean asked, stuffing the keys in his jacket pocket with one hand and trying to thumb the pie box open with the other.

“Yes,” Castiel said, taking the box away from him. “Although I’m interested in the concern you have for my temperature. You said you’re gay: do you usually date particular fussy men?”

Dean burst out laughing. “That,” he said, tapping the box top as it swung free, “is an excellent way to describe them. Even when they weren’t. Because I’m starting to think you’re the least demanding guy I know.

“Also,” he added, before Castiel could say anything. “I don’t let just anyone steal my pie. Just so you know.”

“I’m not stealing it,” Castiel pointed out. “I’m merely assisting your access to it.”

“Hey, no complaints here,” Dean said cheerfully. “Do I get a fork?”

“If I say no,” Castiel said, “will I get to watch you eat it with your fingers?”

“Do you want to see me eat it with my fingers?” Dean asked, already reaching into the box. “Because I will. There’s some food that you really should touch to get the full experience, but it so hard to convince people of that when they think being polite involves good table manners.”

“I think being polite involves enjoying whatever activity you’re engaged in,” Castiel said hopefully.

The encouragement turned out to be unnecessary. Dean was already nudging one of the pieces of pie back toward the corner so that – Castiel guessed – he could reach the point of it without touching any of the other three pieces. That, as far as he concerned, was as polite as anyone needed to be.

Dean broke off the end of what looked like a piece of apple pie and scooped it into his mouth. His other hand came up to catch any crumbs he might drop, and he beamed around a mouthful of crust and filling. “Mmm,” he declared, winking as Castiel as he licked off his fingers. “Enjoying that a lot.”

The sky above them was clear again tonight, black and filled with stars, though it seemed less empty than it had the night Castiel’s car had coasted into town. The air was cold and clean and the lights of the church weren’t enough to dispel the shadows that protected Dean’s delighted expression from any passing onlooker. It was clear enough for Castiel, who reached in and took the next bite of Dean’s pie.

“Hey!” Dean exclaimed. “Are you eating my piece? You have two of your own!”

“Which I must remember to thank Jo for,” Castiel agreed. “Do you always get two pieces of pie?”

“This time I got none!” Dean said. “Since they’re all yours!”

“Your expression seemed to recommend this one,” Castiel told him. “However, if you insist –” Instead of putting it in his mouth, he offered Dean the bite he held in his fingers.

He thought Dean’s eyes widened in the dimness, but it was difficult to tell. His soul was bright enough that Castiel considered himself lucky to be able to pay attention to anything about the rest of him, hard though it might seem to ignore. Dean’s mouth was on his fingers a second later, teeth scraping gently across his skin and his tongue just barely flicking over the tips.

Castiel swallowed, watching Dean stare back at him while he let the pie melt in his mouth. Without another word, he broke off a second piece and held it out.

Dean took a step back. “Okay,” he mumbled around the pie. He swallowed too, although an argument could be made for necessity since his words sounded clearer afterwards. “Um, I mentioned the one night stand thing, right? I said I don’t –”

He seemed to get stuck there, so Castiel said, “I like seeing you enjoy your pie. I assure you, that was my only intent in offering it to you.”

Dean took a breath that seemed to get caught in his throat. “Right,” he said. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make that weird.”

“You didn’t,” Castiel told him. “I apologize if I made it more awkward. I have no ulterior motive, Dean.”

“That’s –” Dean paused. “I’m not used to that, I guess. I believe you,” he hurried to add. “I just – I don’t get it.”

“You don’t want to sleep with me,” Castiel said. “Is it so hard to believe that I might be content with only your company as well?”

“I don’t –”

“Hi Dean!” The voice was young and sweet and Castiel wasn’t entirely surprised to see a young woman twinkling at them as she and her friends walked by them on the street. “Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas, May,” Dean answered, sounding smooth and not at all like he was being fed pie by a man he’d only met two days ago. “Stay warm tonight!”

“We will!” May called back, turning to wave at them as she walked backwards down the road. Her friends steadied her when she walked into one of them, and the three of them giggled their way onward into the night.

“We better go,” Dean said, clearing his throat in a way that didn’t seem to help. It was the first sign of discomfort he’d shown, and Castiel noted that it hadn’t been anywhere in evidence when he was talking to the girls. “Don’t want to miss the lights.”

He reached for a fork, and Castiel was sorry for making him self-conscious about something he’d seemed eager to enjoy. “I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “I didn’t intend to...” Spoil your fun, he wanted to say. “Turn your fun into something else.”

“No, you didn’t,” Dean assured him. “Probably kind of rude of me anyway.”

“I said it wasn’t,” Castiel said quietly.

That made Dean pause again, fork halfway to his mouth. “You did,” he said. “Didn’t you.”

Castiel smiled a little. “So you do listen.”

Dean pulled the pie off his fork with his fingers and popped it in his mouth, grinning back at Castiel. “Yeah,” he said. “Sometimes. You want me to feed you pie, or is that further than you were going with that?”

It wasn’t quite what he’d intended, but he would certainly take it. “No one has fed me anything in a long time,” Castiel said. “I would be pleased to share such a thing with you.”

“Good enough for me,” Dean said after a moment. He plucked an apple slice from their half-eaten piece of pie and offered it to Castiel.

He took it without touching Dean’s fingers, and the smile Dean gave him was impossible to interpret. He was convinced, though, that there was something to interpret. There was definitely something Dean wasn’t telling him.

That was fair, he thought. Castiel could never tell him everything either, so they might as well puzzle each other as long as they could. Dean sounded like he needed something new, and Castiel needed something to remind him of home, so maybe they were perfect for each other after all.

They mostly fed themselves pie after that, since Dean pointed out that they would have to walk and eat in order to make it to the tree by seven-thirty. They did share the pieces, though, and their hands occasionally brushed even when Castiel held the box out to make it easier for Dean to reach. The forks rattled around the bottom, unused and not missed.

They passed and were passed by many other people along the road. The headlights of cars going by were bright and slow, and most everyone shielded their eyes. Traffic narrowed to one lane as the trickle of pedestrians widened, flowing out over the white line, and cars that were driving stopped to wait for those going in the opposite direction.

“Doesn’t seem safe,” Castiel remarked at one point, uncaring of much besides the pie (still warmish) and the man beside him. He thought Dean might be eating more than half the pie, but he couldn’t bring himself to mind. He wouldn’t have had any pie if not for Dean. And it wasn’t like he hadn’t noticed that Dean had paid for their entire meal.

“Everyone expects it,” Dean said. “Middle of town’s always like this when we light the tree. And when we have the harvest fair in the fall. Or the ice cream race in the summer. We put signs up a week or two ahead to remind people, and everyone either walks or puts up with the traffic.”

There were definitely people singing somewhere.

“The kids are singing,” Dean said, like he could read Castiel’s mind. “We do caroling the weekend before Christmas, and the kids know they get treats if they sing. Kind of like Halloween, except colder. Keeps ’em in practice.”

“In practice for... singing?” Castiel asked.

“Yup,” Dean said. As though that was totally normal. “Everyone should sing. It’s a great way to be able to say what you want to say without having to hear what someone else says back. Like, you get the spotlight for as long as your mouth is open, you know? No one can take that away from you.”

Castiel considered that, sucking blueberry filling off of his thumb. “Interesting that you would advocate such a thing when your interest seems to be in conversing with each others. An active dialogue, not a soliloquy.”

“That’s ’cause I want people to talk,” Dean pointed out. “I talk to them so they’ll talk back. I listen so they’ll talk. I just want them to express themselves and think that it’s okay. Singing is a great way to do that.”

“But you don’t get to reply,” Castiel said.

“That’s kind of the point,” Dean said. “It’s not about what I say, right? It’s about what they say. Lots of people don’t talk because they’re afraid of what someone will say back. If you sing there’s only two appropriate responses: clap for them, or keep your mouth shut.”

Castiel reached for another piece of pie. “Can I hear you sing?”

“Sure,” Dean agreed. “Come to church on Sunday.”

Castiel tried to keep blueberry from dripping onto his jacket, and he wasn’t sure he was completely successful. Some people had flashlights, and there were lights set up around the base of the town tree ahead, but there was nowhere near enough illumination for him to make out the subtle contrast of a stain. “All right,” he said.

“Yeah?” Dean asked. “You go to church?”

“Of course,” Castiel said. “You must have guessed that, or you wouldn’t have invited me so casually.”

He could hear the smile in Dean’s voice when he said, “You think pretty well of me for someone I just met.”

I think very well of you, Castiel thought. “You seem determined to make people feel welcome,” Castiel said. “Normal. Comfortable. You would not have invited me to church if you thought I might not go.”

“Well, you did say you’re not very into religion right now,” Dean said. He didn’t contradict Castiel’s observation.

“And you must have guessed from my willingness to work on the structure of the church that I harbor no grudge against the intent of those within,” Castiel said. “I don’t consider myself religious. You know this, so I assume you expect no pretense from me. I’m happy to go to hear you sing.”

“Huh.” Dean sounded more bemused by this than he’d expected. “That kind of makes me want to sing for you outside of church.”

Castiel smiled to himself. “I would certainly not object.”

“I’m a little worried that you just manipulated me into that,” Dean said, sounding on the verge of laughter.

Another joke, Castiel thought, that really wasn’t at all.

“You should only worry about that,” Castiel said, “if you tried to manipulate me into going in the first place. You didn’t. Therefore, I would not be concerned.”

“Huh,” Dean said again. Instead of trying again, though, he asked, “Hey, did you mix up the apple and blueberry filling there in the middle? ’Cause that’s really good.”

“Does Jo also know your favorite kinds of pie?” Castiel inquired.

“Everyone knows my favorite kinds of pie,” Dean said wryly. “All of them. I think she chose them more for you than for me.”

“Ah,” Castiel said. He dragged his finger through the remainder of the filling before sticking it in his mouth again. “In that case, she did an excellent job.”

“Right?” Dean sounded proud and... something else at the same time. “I’ll remember that.”

Tricky, Castiel thought. Dean sounded proud and tricky, cagey... _something_ at the same time. He definitely wasn’t the open book he pretended to be.

“Here,” Dean added. “I’ll carry the empty box. You don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t mind,” Castiel said. He flattened it out, folded it up, and managed to stuff it mostly into his pocket. “It’s fine.”

“Nice coat,” Dean said. “You got a spare tree in there?”

“I wouldn’t be able to fit a tree in my pocket, Dean.”

“No, of course not.” Dean sounded like he was laughing at him without making a sound. “Oh, hey, the wreath is on. They must be about to do the tree.”

They were still some small distance away from the tree itself, but they were approaching the edge of the crowd. There were people clustered off to the side of the street, sitting on benches outside the bagel place Castiel had eaten at twice now, standing around the grass triangle that must constitute the town “square.” Everyone seemed to be talking, or looking at phones, or listening to music over their headphones – or doing all three. They didn’t seem totally engaged in the tree-light spectacle.

“Not everyone is paying attention,” Castiel observed.

“No one’s ever paying attention, Cas. That’s why we come here.”

He considered that, wondering if there was some deeper meaning behind it. He found himself questioning many of the things Dean said, suddenly. “Is that significant?” he asked at last.

“Sure,” Dean said. “It’s as significant as you want it to be, I guess. I just think the tree looks cool when it’s all lit up.”

Without fanfare or announcement, lights up and down the tree came on. There was no pronouncement, no warning, although the light was greeted by a smattering of applause and a couple of whoops from some kids on the other side. The tree did indeed look cool, Castiel thought.

“See?” Dean said. “Merry Christmas, Cas. Do you celebrate Christmas?”

“Not recently,” Castiel said truthfully. “However, I wish the same for you in the spirit it was intended.”

“Thanks,” Dean said with a small smile. “There’s gonna be cider and donuts back at the church. You wanna go?”

He refrained from pointing out that if he wanted a ride from Dean, they would both have to walk back that way anyway. “Will you not sing?” he said instead. “Other people seem to be.”

“Will you?” Dean countered. “I’ll sing if you will.”

Someone on Dean’s other side jostled them, making Dean laugh even as the kid (Castiel assumed) started singing loudly, “Hark the herald angels sing!” They must have had a friend, because then there were two voices saying, “Glory to the newborn king!”

Castiel felt Dean’s arm slide through his even as a voice in his ear sang, “Peace on earth and mercy mild...”

Closing his eyes, under cover of the loud and carefree voices, Castiel murmured, “God and sinners, reconcile.”

He felt Dean elbow him, and he opened his eyes with an effort at a smile. “Joyful all ye nations rise,” he sang, willing to join in if it would make Dean keep singing. The two boys on the other side of Dean must know him, because they were walking along beside him and Castiel and he thought someone else might be singing as well. “Join the triumph of the skies.”

He and Dean were out of step, which wouldn’t have been so noticeable if Dean wasn’t hanging on his arm. Before Castiel could make his feet fall into line, Dean had adjusted his stride to pace Castiel. “With the angelic host proclaim,” he sang cheerfully, “Christ is born in Bethlehem!”

His voice was the one Castiel could hear most clearly, and that was the way he liked it. Dean did (not unexpectedly) have an excellent singing voice. It wasn’t as deep as his speaking voice might have indicated, making him more than capable of carrying the melody even in the midst of what sounded like teenage voices. Castiel tried to keep up without drowning any of them out.

Rather than fading out or trailing off as they walked down the street, the song seemed to grow in strength. They weren’t the first to leave the site of the tree-lighting, although given the lack of ceremony Castiel was a little surprised to find they weren’t anything like the last, either. Most of the crowd seemed to be behind them.

As it caught up, though, more voices were joining in – some practiced, some not. He found he enjoyed hearing them, no matter the song. And this one certainly wouldn’t have been his first choice.

The impromptu chorus made it through the second verse and launched into the third, and Castiel tried not to wince. This was, after all, at his own request. When he dropped out, though, he heard Dean sing, “Hail the heaven born prince of peace...” before falling quiet and nudging Castiel gently. “You okay?”

Rather than answer, Castiel murmured, “Hail the son of righteousness,” and he felt Dean’s hand slide over his and tighten on his fingers before resettling their arms. They were very close, even in bulky coats and surrounded by what felt like half of Dean’s hometown.

“Light and life to all he brings,” Dean sang, lending his voice to tie them all together again. “Rising with healing in his wings...”

He was too bright, but Castiel didn’t dare fall silent and draw his attention again. Instead he closed his eyes and let Dean’s arm guide him, putting one foot in front of the other on this darkened street. “Mild he lays his glory by,” he said, as quietly as he could and still be heard. “Born that man no more may die.”

“Born to raise the sons of earth,” Dean called, his voice the one thing Castiel couldn’t escape and didn’t want to deny. “Born to give them second birth! Hark the herald angels sing!”

And they did, Castiel thought distantly. Right now, an angel was singing. “Glory to the newborn king,” he said, as good as unheard beneath the cheering and laughter as voices competed with each other to see who could finish the loudest.

Even Dean was laughing, arm sliding out of his and landing solidly around his shoulder. “See?” he said in Castiel’s ear. “I can sing! And you can sing! That was awesome!”

Yes, Castiel thought, forcing his eyes open again. Awesome was certainly one way to describe it.

“Dashing through the snow,” he heard someone yell. “In my rusty chevrolet! Down the road I go, sliding all the way...”

Dean was still laughing, although Castiel felt him give his shoulders a squeeze before he called, “I need new piston rings, I need some new snow tires –”

And there were more of them singing now, although this time he couldn’t distinguish the female voices that had been hitting the high notes before. “My car is held together by a piece of chicken wire!”

Castiel found himself smiling. He wouldn’t have been sure they even knew what they were singing, if they weren’t so unnaturally in sync about it. They all clearly agreed on the words.

“Hey,” Dean said, as the boisterous group launched into what had to be the chorus. “You got a favorite Christmas song? Or holiday song, or winter song?”

No, he almost said. But he supposed Dean would consider that sacrilege, of a sort. “I enjoy them all,” he said.

“Really?” Dean sounded teasingly skeptical. “Even ‘Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer’? Or ‘The Twelve Redneck Days Of Christmas’? Or what about the chipmunk song; no one likes that.”

It kept the smile on his face. “I like Trans Siberian Orchestra,” he offered carefully, guessing that this might be a sound that met with Dean’s approval.

“Yeah?” Dean brightened at this, which must have been difficult, but Castiel could see it even without turning to look at him. Under cover of the kids yelling, “Speeding down the highway, right past the county cops!” Dean leaned in to whisper, “For of all the dreams, you were the first I knew?”

Castiel didn’t dare turn his head while they were walking, sure he would stumble and they would fall into each other and everyone would watch them try not to kiss. But he did say, “And every other one was a charade of you.”

He could feel Dean grin. “You stayed close when I was far away. You’ve got good taste, Cas.”

“From you,” he said quietly, “I suspect that is a tremendous compliment.”

“What, ’cause I’ve got such great taste?” Dean teased.

“Because you have such firm opinions,” Castiel replied. “You believe what you believe with passion and certainty, and I have no doubt that if you find something about me lacking, you will let me know. Therefore, everything you find to approve, you must approve with great conviction.”

“Yeah, I’ve got conviction in spades,” Dean agreed. “Sam says it’s not one of my strong points, actually.”

“Your brother?” Castiel asked. The kids around them were singing, “Rust and smoke, the heater’s broke, the door just blew away! I light a match to see the dash and then I start to pray!” This part actually sounded vaguely familiar. He thought it must be a song with radio play after all, or surely he would remember where he’d heard it.

“Grad student,” Dean said. “He’s all about flexible morality and cultural relativity and stuff that makes me want to shake him. But I guess he thinks the same thing about me, just in reverse. So it probably evens out.”

“You say that as though ‘grad student’ was all the explanation I needed,” Castiel remarked, not sure he wanted to ask. Dean had seemed to get on very well with his brother when they were all at dinner together the other night.

“College kids,” Dean said with a shrug. “What are you gonna do, right?”

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “Did you not attend college?”

“Well, yeah,” Dean said, as though that was completely different. “But I’m not in college now. That’s not even the same thing at all.”

“I see.” He didn’t, but he supposed on some other level that a theological college and whatever course of study Sam Winchester was engaged in might have significant differences. Perhaps that was all Dean meant.

“He’ll settle down once he graduates,” Dean said. “Maybe. Actually, I think I said that when he was an undergraduate too. It definitely didn’t work out that way.”

“Your father seems to accept his morality,” Castiel remarked. He didn’t know why he was pushing; he’d told himself to let it go twice already, and twice he’d continued on regardless.

“Yeah, that’s because you were there.” Dean sounded very sure, and there was the chagrin Castiel had been hoping to avoid. “They are so not on the same page about the girlfriend thing, but every time Dad complains that Sam’s a polygamist, Sam calls him a serial polygamist, and they get into some stupid shouting match that makes the whole family look like a freak show.”

The kids were still shouting about their broken car, but Dean still seemed very aware that he had stopped talking. Castiel said, “I think that’s the first negative thing I’ve heard you say about someone you know.”

He couldn’t hear Dean sigh, but he felt Dean’s arm rise and fall with the movement of his shoulder. “I’m no saint, Cas.” He didn’t bother to whisper, though Castiel didn’t think anyone else could hear him over the sound of the singing.

“Every saint has a past,” Castiel murmured.

“Every sinner has a future,” Dean replied. “I found God in a catalytic converter.”

“In Topeka on a Monday night,” Castiel finished. “You listen to Ludo.”

“I like songs that compare cars to God,” Dean said lightly. “You _do_ have good taste.”

“The frame is bent, the muffler went, the radio it’s okay!” the kids were yelling. What cohesiveness the song had was being maintained almost entirely by their volume at this point. “Oh what fun it is to drive this rusty chevrolet!”

“These guys, on the other hand,” Dean said, sounding more and more amused. “Definitely do not. They have the opposite of taste. They have anti-taste.”

“Nah, we have something better,” the kid on the other side of Dean said. Castiel couldn’t tell if it was the same one who had first prompted Dean to join in on “Hark the Herald Angels Sing” or not, but if it was, he was very persistent. “We have you!”

“You won’t have me if you don’t save me some cider and donuts,” Dean said. They were coming up on the church parking lot, and Castiel could see several of the kids loping on ahead. They weren’t even trying to run, he thought, they were just swirling around each other with such exuberance that it couldn’t be contained at a walking pace.

He couldn’t remember what it felt like to be that full of joy. The thought was crushing in its comprehension.

“Last one there gets last choice,” the kid retorted, and in a moment he was gone.

“You have a nice voice,” Dean said. He was quiet as the crowd thinned, many of them already gone to cars or more private conversations or just lingering on a walk that was, after all, beautiful in the midst of such a clear and present night. With the kids piling through the side door of the church, and some of the adults as well, Dean slowed to a halt by the corner of the building and turned to look at him.

“Thank you,” Castiel said, when it didn’t seem as though Dean would say anything else. “I enjoyed hearing you sing.”

“Likewise,” Dean said. “You want to go in, get some cider or something? Here,” he added, reaching for Castiel’s jacket. “I can throw the pie box out, at least.”

Castiel held his arms out and let Dean paw at his pocket, not because he didn’t understand his intent but because having Dean close made the void seem less all-encompassing. He wasn’t hungry in the least, but he wouldn’t turn down warm cider. Or a chance to stay with Dean a few minutes longer.

“I wouldn’t object to a warm drink,” he said, smiling as Dean pulled the box free and took one of his gloves with it. He’d forgotten to put them on while they were walking, but Dean didn’t seem to think it strange.

“Sorry,” Dean said, stepping closer to push the glove back into his pocket. “Yeah, cider would be good, right? Just to warn you, though, the kids are gonna mock me endlessly for this. They’ll probably be nicer to you – I hope they’ll be nicer to you – but I’m gonna be hearing about my new boyfriend for the rest of forever.”

“If it bothers you,” Castiel said, “we could stage some kind of public altercation. You can be the one who gets dumped, if you like. I’m sure you want to protect your reputation as the nice one.”

“Oh, getting dumped would totally help my reputation,” Dean said with a snort. “Thanks, Cas, I can see you’re always gonna be thinking of me.”

“Not boyfriend material?” Castiel suggested. “Perhaps you should tell the children.”

“Don’t let them hear you say that,” Dean said with a smirk. “They don’t even like being called ‘kids,’ but calling ’em young adults makes me feel old.”

“I suppose,” Castiel said without thinking, “that this is too public a venue for our first kiss.”

Okay, maybe he thought about it a little.

“Yeah,” Dean said with a sigh. “I mean, no. Not if we were already going out, I guess. But it’s not very respectable for a first date. I’m sure I’d hear about it from my dad later. After he’d heard about it from, like, twelve other family friends.”

“The family’s good name comes first,” Castiel agreed. He was familiar with the concept.

Dean stared at him for a long moment, still holding the flattened pie box in one hand. “When you put it like that,” he said at last. “You wanna?”

Castiel shuffled closer, careful in case Dean wasn’t entirely committed. But they were pressed up against each other in bulky coats and Dean’s warm breath was silver in front of his eyes. Dean smiled, just enough taller that he was looking down, and Castiel tipped his head up in invitation.

He felt Dean’s mouth on his a moment later. Cool and dry, like lingering autumn in the middle of a snowstorm. He barely cared that they were kissing, just happy to hold onto Dean’s coat and lean on someone for the first time in much too long. Happy to be close, to be blessed... to be seen.

You’re not seen, an insidious voice inside his head whispered. A voice that was his own, and he wished he could shut up for just a minute. Just long enough to pretend that he was exactly what Dean thought he was, and Dean was exactly who he pretended to be, and they had found each other on a pretty holiday night and now they were going to spend the season together.

“Nice,” Dean murmured, drawing back. “I hope I get another one when I drop you off.”

Castiel hoped he did too. “A promise is a promise,” he said.

“Come on,” Dean said with a smile. “Let’s warm up first.”

Inside, Castiel found himself being introduced to everyone who spoke to Dean and most of the people who didn’t, which he should have expected. It still seemed a bit exhausting, all the humanity packed into that tiny space. The community room was filled to capacity, but the kitchen was still setting out donuts and pouring fresh cider as fast as it was picked up.

Castiel eventually realized that people were in fact leaving, but it took him an embarrassingly long time to notice because more people kept coming in to replace the ones who’d gone home. It was as though everyone who had been on the street or even close to in the vicinity for the tree lighting was filing through the church’s community room on their way back home.

“This is a little over the top,” Dean whispered at one point. “Even for us. I’m pretty sure someone saw you come in here, and word spread. I think everyone wants to meet you.”

“Are you blaming this parade on me?” Castiel whispered back.

“Pretty much, yeah,” Dean said, lifting his plastic cup of cider to his mouth to hide his smile.

It was Dean, however, who ultimately provided their escape. “We’ve got food in the car,” he said. “Sorry, guys, we have to go. Good to see you. Yeah, you too. Have a good night; see you Sunday. Stay warm, everyone.” Dean was a constant stream of leave-taking, and once he’d decided they were going, they made it out through the door in a matter of minutes.

“You got a refrigerator in your room?” Dean asked, as they made their way back to the car.

“Yes,” Castiel said.

“That’s too bad,” Dean told him. “I was hoping I’d have to keep your leftovers and make you come back and eat them with me tomorrow.”

“You could do that,” Castiel said. “I’m sure my refrigerator doesn’t have much room in it, and it’s already holding several other things. I’m not sure I’ll be able to fit the Harvelle’s box inside with them.”

“You make it too easy for me, Cas.” Dean unlocked the passenger door and held it for him, watching while he climbed inside. “You wanna give me a call tomorrow when you’re hungry?”

Castiel pulled his coat in closer so it wouldn’t get stuck in the door and raised an eyebrow up at Dean. “Should I say no, so that you feel you have to work for it?”

The corners of Dean’s mouth curved upward. “Don’t say no,” he said.

“Yes,” Castiel said. “I will call you when I’m ready to take a break.”

A curious look flickered over Dean’s face, and then he frowned, just a little. “A break? Wait, you’re not planning to work on the roof tomorrow, too, are you? It’s Saturday, man.”

“I believe Sunday is the day of rest,” Castiel pointed out. “And I don’t have anything else to do.” Which wasn’t entirely true, but he was here, ostensibly, to complete repairs to the church roof. If he were to take time off, he would need a reason.

“Sure you do,” Dean said. “Hang out with me instead. I mean, not like I have any exciting plans. Mostly I have to go grocery shopping and do laundry tomorrow morning, but if you come over for lunch I bet we can find something to do in the afternoon.”

“I also have clothes that need washing,” Castiel admitted. “Are there any secrets to your laundromat? Washers that work better than others? Dryers that run long?”

“Me and Sam have a washer and dryer,” Dean said, leaning carefully on the door. “Come over. We’ll throw all our stuff in together.”

He hadn’t known Dean lived with his brother, but he certainly wasn’t going to turn down an invitation like that. “That’s a very kind offer.”

“That’s a selfish offer,” Dean corrected. “Laundry’s boring. You’re not. I’m pretty sure having you around can make anything cooler, and I’m ready to test that as far as you’ll let me.”

As far as he’d let himself, then, Castiel thought. There really wasn’t anywhere he wouldn’t let a soul like that go.

“I’ll be there,” he said aloud. “If you tell me where you live.”

“I’ll show you,” Dean said, stepping back as he got ready to close the door. “We’ll do a drive-by.”

When Castiel nodded, Dean closed the door for him and walked around to the other side. Castiel knew better than to unlock the door without leaning over, although he was, for the first time since it had actually mattered, so very tempted to do it anyway. He reached across the driver’s seat and flipped the lock just as Dean reached for the door.

“Thanks,” Dean said, pulling it open and sliding into his seat with the grace of someone who didn’t have to think about it. He tugged the door shut, turned the key, and put an arm over Castiel’s seat to back out, all without giving him a second look. He was, after all, just another guy.

 **4 December**

If Dean’s father had stopped by the next day, he probably would have guessed what he was walking into. Castiel’s car was in the driveway, and he and Dean were sprawled out on the couch watching cartoons. Castiel was, to his own delight, wearing Dean’s clothes, since Dean had caught him wearing the same shirt he’d worn to dinner at John’s and insisted that he take it off to wash it.

“It was only that evening,” Castiel protested. “I didn’t work in it; it’s perfectly clean.” It was also the nicest shirt he owned, barring a button-down that was perpetually wrinkled. It was no coincidence that he’d worn it to dinner at the pastor’s house and also to breakfast with the man he’d kissed twice the night before – even if breakfast was just cereal and juice in front of a TV.

Especially if breakfast was just cereal and juice in front of a TV. More chance the clothes would be touched, possibly smelled. He wouldn’t wear anything that wasn’t clean and comfortable.

“Mine’s cleaner,” Dean insisted stubbornly. “What about your jeans? Dare I ask if you’re double-wearing them?”

Castiel just looked at him. Who didn’t double-wear jeans? They were jeans; it wasn’t like anyone was going to notice.

Dean had taken this for the agreement it was and found him a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. After his initial protest, he didn’t bother with even a token objection. Dean had far more clothes than he did, and _sweatpants_. Castiel didn’t even own sweatpants. They were impractical and took up too much space for something that so rarely qualified as appropriate attire.

Castiel didn’t spend a lot of mornings lounging on someone else’s couch with a bowl of cereal and silly television on in front of him. He thought he would definitely own sweatpants if this were part of his routine. Sweatpants, and a worn t-shirt like the one Dean had lent him. His clothes were comfortable, but Dean’s were... welcoming.

He let Dean sort their laundry, since Dean knew more about his washer’s capacity than Castiel did, though he did go through while Dean was pouring soap and start turning Dean’s clothes inside-out. Dean hadn’t bothered, and when he turned around and saw Castiel doing it, he raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“They’ll last longer,” Castiel said. “You just wash them the way they are?”

“I guess,” Dean said. “Wait, why do they last longer?”

“The washer wear is on the inside,” Castiel said. “Obviously.”

Dean grinned at that, pulling clothes out to help him. “Obviously,” he repeated. “That’s a trick my mom didn’t teach me, I guess. Or maybe I just wasn’t listening. I got as far as ‘don’t put red things in with white things,’ and the rest I learned by trial and error.”

They’d put in their first load, and Dean had mentioned getting something to eat. When Castiel admitted that he hadn’t eaten either, Dean insisted on pouring some cereal for him as well. He’d asked if Castiel wanted something more substantial, but since he’d clearly come over without any breakfast at all, it wasn’t difficult to convince Dean that whatever he had was fine.

The path to the couch was a pleasant blur of milk and juice and offers of a tour that never quite materialized. Not because Castiel didn’t want one, but because they were both holding bowls at that point and Dean had pushed aside one of the remotes to set down their drinks. Then he picked it up, and Castiel thought he’d sat down first it but in retrospect it didn’t seem to matter very much.

He wasn’t particularly familiar with the current television schedule. Dean seemed to be, however, and Castiel was content to let him choose and narrate their viewing where he would. It was during this unexpectedly peaceful moment that the phone rang, and Dean tossed Castiel the remote. It was a mostly futile gesture, since Castiel had no idea how to use it – they all seemed to be different – but it left Dean free to lean over the arm of the couch and pick up the phone.

“Hey, Dad,” he said, without getting up.

Castiel lifted the remote, trying to let Dean know that if he wanted the volume softened he would have to do it himself. Dean just waved it off. Animated characters continued to wander on and off the screen.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “I didn’t see you there.”

At the tree lighting, Castiel assumed. Jo had implied that Dean’s father wanted him to go, and would notice his absence. Dean himself had said that word of his presence – or at least his activities – would get back to his dad. Castiel didn’t know if it usually took more or less time than this, but he was certainly familiar with the concept of reporting to family.

“Uh-huh,” Dean was saying. He sounded like he knew what was coming, even as he asked, “How are they?”

Castiel didn’t really want to hear the other side of the conversation. He didn’t know Pastor John that well, and he had little investment in his happiness or well-being except as the father of the man he was here to save. He was more interested in how Dean would react to whatever was going on than anything else.

“Probably because I did,” Dean said. “He’s a nice guy, Dad. I didn’t do anything we didn’t talk about beforehand.”

At this, Dean glanced over at Castiel and rolled his eyes. Castiel wasn’t sure if he was supposed to mock or sympathize, so he did neither. He just watched as Dean tipped his head back against the couch and stared up at the ceiling.

There was a long silence this time, and Castiel could only guess what John was saying. He saw Dean open his mouth several times, but never did he actually get a word in. Until finally he sighed, loudly, and said, “Dad. Hey, Dad, I know you’re not done – yeah, believe me, I get that. But he’s right here, you know.”

There was another pause, and Castiel saw Dean’s lips twitch. “Like, right next to me here,” he said. “You want to talk to him? Here. Talk to him.”

He held the phone out to Castiel, mouthing, _Sorry._

Castiel wasn’t sure why he took the phone, except that Dean looked so expectant. “Hello?” he said carefully.

“Castiel.” John’s voice did not sound pleased. “I understand that you’re with my son.”

That seemed to Castiel to be self-evident. “Indeed,” he said.

“Are you dressed?” John demanded.

Castiel blinked. “Yes,” he said. He glanced over at Dean, and some imp prompted him to add, “Your son lent me some of his clothes. He’s very kind.”

Dean, of all things, burst out laughing. There was no answer from the phone before Dean leaned over and snatched it away. “Dad,” he said, and there was no mistaking his grin, even if all his father could hear was his voice. “We’re doing laundry. Cas was gonna go to the laundromat, I told him he should come here instead. He just showed up a few minutes ago. I loaned him some clothes so he could wash all his stuff at once.”

He barely waited before adding, “Nothing’s going on, Dad. I took him to dinner last night and then we went to watch the tree-lighting; that’s all. He was gonna work today; I told him I’d show him around a little instead. He’s doing all that work on the roof for free. The least we can do is be hospitable.”

There was a very pronounced silence, and then Dean said, “Well, maybe I wanted to.”

Another beat, and Dean was sitting up again. Straight: not slouched back against the couch, or bent playfully in Castiel’s direction after retrieving the phone. “When _does_ it matter, Dad? When does me wanting something ever make it okay? Because I see a lot of Sam getting his way, but I don’t see a whole lot of tolerance for me.

“I’m _gay_ , okay? Still gay. You can rationalize it all you want, but it does mean that occasionally, I want to have dinner with a guy for some reason other than discussing his deep spiritual issues. Sometimes I want to have dinner and just say, ‘Hey, so, where you from? Do you like Zeppelin?’ And then I want to have pie and walk him to his door and kiss him good night, and I don’t want to hear from you about what a problem it is for my future!”

Dean listened for a moment after he finished, and Castiel tried to relax. Dean was clearly upset, but if he expected a response –

There was a beep as Dean hung up the phone. A single button on the handset, and then he was staring at it like he’d never seen it before. He sat like that for several seconds.

Castiel wasn’t sure his opinion was welcome, but he offered it anyway. “I do like Led Zeppelin,” he remarked. “But most days I find ‘Highway to Hell’ more appropriate than ‘Stairway to Heaven.’”

This made Dean smile, though it looked a little wistful. “AC/DC,” he said. “Figures.”

But he leaned over and put the phone down, and he didn’t look quite so shell-shocked when he turned back to Castiel. “Sorry about that,” he said, although the apology sounded hollow. Like maybe he’d given it more than once. “My dad’s still having trouble dealing with his not-so-secret homophobia. It makes our relationship more interesting.”

“Where by ‘interesting,’” Castiel guessed, “you mean ‘strained.’”

Dean shrugged. “Could be worse,” he said. “At least me and Sam take some of the heat off each other this way.”

Just like that, Castiel thought he understood why Dean and his brother got along so well. Dean didn’t totally approve of Sam’s choices, but they’d bonded in the face of adversity. No matter their differences, there was little that would bring people together faster than a shared challenge.

“Don’t worry,” Dean said with a sigh. “We’ll be fine at church tomorrow. We always are.”

 **5 December**

He was right. If ‘fine’ meant ‘outwardly fine,’ which Castiel could only assume it did. And maybe it had all along, so who was to say anything between them had changed?

Pastor John greeted Castiel at the door with the same warmth he showed everyone else. He didn’t make any pointed inquiries about progress on the roof, but rather smiled and thanked Castiel for everything he was doing. Everything. Castiel listened for bitterness or even resignation and heard nothing.

So he returned the smile, and the handshake, and filed past with the rest of the congregation. Some of the boys he’d met after the tree lighting waved for him to join them in their pew, and he hesitated only long enough to look around and make sure they weren’t actually gesturing to someone else. He’d expected them to sit with their families, but it was clear that they weren’t waiting for parents to join them. It was equally clear that they did want him to slide in with them, so he did.

He might have looked for Dean, except that Dean had warned him the choir stood for half the service and sat apart for the rest of it. He did catch a glimpse of Sam as he sat down – Dean had said it was unusual to see him in church, but it made sense to Castiel in light of his revelation the day before. Dean had likely told Sam of his argument with their father, so Sam would be here to support him in case of trouble.

“Hey, man,” Kylen said as Castiel sat down next to him. “The pastor okay to you?”

“Hello,” Castiel said. “He was very polite, yes.”

“Like, too polite?” Jake asked. “Dean told us to watch out for you, so. You wanna move to the inside?”

Kylen smacked him on the back of the head. “You don’t have to _tell_ him,” he hissed.

“He’s not stupid,” Jake retorted. “Hi, Castiel. You know Erin and Chris?”

“Erin and I met,” Castiel said, scanning the faces Jake indicated. Erin nodded at him, and the boy on his other side stood up and leaned over his friends to offer his hand. “Chris, I assume?”

“Yeah,” Chris said, shaking his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Castiel agreed. “Did Dean tell you all to look out for me?”

“Nah,” Jake said. “Just me and Kylen. We told everyone else.”

“Everyone?” Castiel repeated. He wasn’t sure whether he should be amused or worried. There couldn’t be anything bad to come out of “everyone” in town trying to defend him from the wrath of Dean’s father... could there?

“Everyone who goes to Teen – uh, Youth Study,” Kylen said.

“Pretty much anyone here who’s our age is your friend right now,” Jake added. “So if you need anything, just say the word.”

“You’re very loyal to Dean,” Castiel observed. Two young woman slid into the pew in front of them and immediately turned around, wiggling their fingers at the boys and looking him up and down. He nodded to them.

“Hi, Castiel,” another voice said, even as Jake started to introduce the girls. He looked up to see Alison smiling at him – or at Kylen, it was difficult to say for sure – with another friend beside her. Sadie, whom he’d also met at the church after the tree-lighting.

“Hello, Alison,” he replied. “Hello, Sadie. Have you also been instructed to take care of me this morning?”

They exchanged glances, and he heard Jake laugh from behind him.

“Uh,” Kylen said. “We hadn’t gotten to them yet?”

“Ooh, are we protecting Dean’s boyfriend?” Alison asked, the smile spreading across her face. “You should let him sit on the inside.”

“We keep trying,” Kylen said, but Alison and Sadie were already squeezing into places in the pew in front of them. They, too, turned around as soon as they sat down. “Hey, did you guys see that Serenity was on Syfy yesterday?”

“Yes!” Alison exclaimed. “But I wasn’t home, and Sadie didn’t want to watch the end anyway, so we just started at the beginning of Firefly instead. We got through, like, four and a half episodes.”

“We should have a marathon to finish the season,” Sadie murmured. She wasn’t easy to hear, even in a room where teenagers seemed to be the loudest speakers. Kylen must have heard her, though, because he agreed and Castiel stopped paying attention to the conversation when he realized Sam wasn’t alone.

He was leaning over to whisper to a blonde-haired woman, which Castiel wouldn’t have thought was odd. Dean had described Jess as blonde. But there was another blonde-haired woman on Sam’s other side, and Castiel was certain he’d seen the two of them holding hands when they leaned over the pew to talk to a couple behind them earlier. Sarah had dark hair, and if she was present, she didn’t seem to be sitting with Sam.

“Hey, guys.” Another young woman stood at the end of the pew, but she didn’t give Castiel a second glance. “Move in, yeah?”

All the boys in the pew shuffled around, as though they might move if she were standing directly over them but didn’t plan to get up without more direction than that. “Shove,” Chris said. “No touching.”

Erin moved at that, sliding into Jake, and Chris added, “Claudia, that’s Castiel. He’s a friend of Dean’s.”

“Hi,” she said, smiling as she squeezed past him.

“Sit with us,” Alison demanded.

“Nah, I gotta show Chris something,” Claudia said. She went all the way to the middle of the pew, on the far side of Chris, so Castiel didn’t see what it was. But Alison only pouted until the music started, and then everyone was sitting and turning around and the time for talking seemed to be over.

All the choir had to accompany them was a piano. Castiel didn’t recognize the woman sitting at it. The vocal divisions of the singers seemed to take the place of secondary instruments, but he didn’t recognize either the arrangement or the words. He could only think that the words, “You feel alone, a little out of place,” had to be Dean’s influence.

“You hide away the scars and the mistakes,” the choir sang, and he knew every hymn. This wasn’t one of them. “You’ve been tired, uninspired, something’s gotta give –”

Pop song, he thought. It rhymed. He glanced over at Kylen, who had bowed his head... over his phone.

Kylen wasn’t the only one texting, Castiel noticed with amusement. He could see Alison also looking down, and when he shifted enough that he could look down the pew without drawing attention, he saw Claudia writing something on the back of an envelope. She passed it to Chris when she was done, and he twitched his hand up against hers to take her pen.

“We’ve all been there,” the choir was singing. “We’re walking down the same road, so don’t be scared: you’re not out there on your own.”

Sam had put his arm around the second blonde-haired woman. Castiel didn’t mean to stare at them, but he didn’t see what difference it made if no one else noticed. They were sitting up in the front row, and he was six pews back. He was relatively certain that Jess was the woman on Sam’s right: the one he’d been holding hands with earlier, the taller one with unexpectedly curly hair. She seemed to fit Dean’s description best.

He supposed it didn’t matter who the other blonde woman was, except that Dean had been adamant that Sam had two girlfriends. Not three. He hadn’t indicated that it changed with any particular frequency, so Castiel had assumed that whatever the relationship was, it was relatively stable.

And yet.

“Right now, he’s telling the truth: that you will make it through,” the choir sang, and Castiel tried to wonder more about how Dean had gotten them to sing this than about who Dean’s brother was sitting with. Unfortunately, he found that he did care more about Sam than he did about John – they were both important to Dean, but Dean’s beliefs about his father seemed well-founded in reality. The truth behind his beliefs about Sam was harder to assess.

“His love can rescue you right now...”

The woman Sam had his arm around whispered something back to him, and Castiel frowned. He didn’t even realize he was doing it until something bumped his arm and he looked down automatically. Kylen was staring straight ahead, but his phone was tilted toward Castiel. _U ok?_

Castiel nodded once, and the phone returned to its former position.

He could only imagine what Dean had said to them to make them watch him like this. He remembered Claudia and Chris passing notes, and suddenly he remembered the receipt in his coat pocket. He didn’t have anything to write with. On the other hand, he doubted that would stop any of the people currently in the pew with him.

Castiel nudged Kylen’s elbow, very carefully, with his own. Kylen glanced at him, and Castiel made a writing motion. He saw Kylen do exactly the same thing to Jake, who passed the motion on to Erin, and a moment later a pen was being passed down the pew toward him. Castiel tried to hide his smile.

 _Who’s sitting with Sam?_ he wrote. He offered both the receipt and the pen to Kylen. If they were texting him, he figured they wouldn’t have any trouble telling him if his questions were inappropriate.

There was a crinkling noise, audible this close as the choir’s song came to a close, and then Kylen passed the receipt back. He’d drawn a circle labeled “Sam” in the middle of it, then a second circle to the right labeled “Jess.” This circle also said “gf,” which Castiel assumed was short for “girlfriend.”

On the left side was a circle labeled both “Mary” and “mom.”

Of course. Castiel stopped just short of rolling his eyes at himself. Why he had thought Dean’s mother wouldn’t come to church, he had no idea. Of course she would sit with her son and his girlfriend.

He took the pen back from Kylen and wrote, _Thank you._ He saw Kylen nod out of the corner of his eye.

The entire congregation rose for a hymn after that, and Castiel was no longer surprised that all of the teenagers around him sang. Kylen was the only one who picked up a hymnal, and that seemed to be mostly so he could share it with Castiel. They all knew the words, though, and he didn’t see a single phone or note passed until they sat down again.

He didn’t pay much more attention to the sermon than they did. In fact, given their apparent ability to multitask, he wouldn’t be surprised if they heard more of it than he did. He stopped watching Sam and spent his time watching Dean instead: it was more interesting, less frustrating, and probably irritated the pastor no end. Castiel had no doubt that John could tell exactly where he was looking. He found he didn’t much care.

He also found out why they had wanted him to move farther down the pew when it came time for collection. He hadn’t realized that such a small church would probably have the collection taken by the pastor himself. Still, he added his money to that collected from the rest of the pew and handed it over without incident. John smiled and blessed him as he did everyone else.

The choir sang again – another song Castiel didn’t recognize, although it made him smile – and he appreciated the teenagers’ willingness to include him in their exchange of peace. They hugged him as easily as they hugged each other, and he wondered if that had been part of Dean’s instruction as well. Marita answered the question for him before he could ask.

“He didn’t tell us to hug you,” she whispered, putting her arms around him over the back of her pew. “We just like you.”

Castiel had only just then been introduced to Marita, but she seemed very familiar with who he was. “So far I like all of Dean’s friends,” he told her quietly, and she beamed at him as she pulled away. “Peace be with you,” he added, and she echoed it before turning to her other friends.

They gathered in the community room for fellowship after the service, and Castiel considered leaving. He had heard Dean sing, as promised. He thought he might be pushing his luck with John as it was, and any public confrontation would certainly make his ability to continue work on the roof less likely. That was, at this point, still the only excuse he had to stay in town.

He didn’t leave, of course. Having given it due consideration, he felt perfectly rational in his decision to stay. It would be rude to abandon a congregation he was working for, especially after the first service they’d held since he’d been in town. It would be inappropriate to repay Dean’s friends by refusing to share fellowship with them after they’d kept him company for the last hour. Almost-hour. It had felt like an hour, anyway.

He couldn’t deny the desire to encounter Dean’s mother, either. He hoped he would have that chance, even if it meant making conversation with every other person in the church.

Mostly, though, he wanted to speak with Dean. The choir was already trickling into the community room, divested of their robes and looking just like anyone else again. The pastor hadn’t changed, Castiel noticed, but presumably no one had expected him to.

“Hey.”

He turned quickly. He’d been keeping an eye out for Dean – scanning incessantly, actually, but that sounded a bit overenthusiastic – and he’d still missed him. “You sounded amazing,” he said before he could think.

Dean’s face broke into a grin. “Yeah, I’m sure you could hear me out of everyone up there,” he teased. “It’s my awesome pipes.”

Castiel could, but he didn’t say so. “I meant all of you,” he said. “You have a wonderful choir.”

“We do, right?” Dean didn’t look embarrassed at all. “We try to make it fun, but we put in a lot of work to sound that good. Luckily Dad lets us sing some non-traditional stuff. That gets some of the kids interested, and then their parents have to come, and word starts to get around.”

Castiel didn’t think it was a sense of obligation that made people join Dean’s choir. “I didn’t recognize either of the songs you sang,” he said instead. “I don’t suppose you do recordings?”

“Nah,” Dean said. “They’re commercial, though; I can hook you up with the rock versions. Got an e-mail address?”

That was when Castiel realized he still had Claudia’s pen. He wrote his address down on the bottom of the receipt and tore it off for Dean. He wasn’t quite fast enough to make it happen before Dean saw the notes written above it.

“Hey, that’s right,” Dean said, glancing around the room as he folded the piece of paper into his pocket. “Mom’s here; you should meet her.”

“This is Claudia’s pen.” Castiel was looking around for someone else entirely. “I should –”

“There she is,” Dean interrupted. “Come on.”

Dean either wasn’t paying attention, or didn’t feel the pen was as important as his mother. Which, Castiel supposed, when he thought about it that way, seemed justified. So he allowed Dean to tow him across the room, navigating around people and through groups, dodging greetings and questions as he went.

Dean, Castiel thought, was single-minded in a way that he could very much enjoy.

“Hi, Mom!” Dean called, as soon as they got close enough. By his estimation, apparently. By Castiel’s, they were still drowning out several other conversations with their greeting.

“Hello,” he said, raising his voice so as to be part of the disruption. He probably shouldn’t find it as refreshing as he did.

Mary was clearly talking to Jess, but they both turned around when Dean called out. Sam was nowhere in sight. “Dean!” Mary exclaimed. “I liked ‘Right Now’ today; I don’t think it’s ever sounded better. Is this Castiel?”

“Thanks,” Dean said. “And yeah. He’s good-looking, right?”

Mary laughed, putting an arm around Dean as easily as Sam had hugged her in the pew earlier. “He’s very handsome,” she agreed. “Like you even noticed. He’s terrible,” she added, and now she seemed to be addressing Castiel. “I ask him to describe people, and all he’s got is, ‘Kind of short,’ or ‘Bad taste in music.’ Everyone’s short compared to him, and musical taste doesn’t help me pick them out of a crowd.”

Castiel tilted his head, regarding her with some amusement. He thought he could see where Dean got his tendency to talk. “I’m sure ‘good-looking’ isn’t much help either,” he said. “Although relative to Dean, it must be a rare description indeed.”

Dean looked surprised. “Why, Cas,” he drawled. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said about me.”

“It’s nowhere near the nicest thing I’ve said about you,” Castiel told him. “You must not be listening very carefully.”

“Really not Dean’s strong suit,” Mary said, smiling at him. “He hears what he wants to hear.”

“I’ve found the opposite to be true,” Castiel remarked.

Mary raised an eyebrow in his direction. If the expression hadn’t been so very like Dean he might have been able to identify it more easily. There was something behind it, but it was gone before he understood.

“Okay, stop talking about me,” Dean said. “I’m awesome, I know. Castiel, this is my mom. Mom, Castiel.”

“I also go by Mary,” Mary offered, holding out her hand.

Castiel took her hand carefully, searching her soul for any indication of the light he saw in Dean’s. It was there, and it was beautiful, but it still didn’t quite...

“And Jess,” Dean was saying. “You haven’t met Jess yet, right? Jess, this is Cas.”

“Hello,” Jess said with a smile. She held out her hand too, but he got the feeling she only did it because Mary had. “Nice to meet you... Castiel? Do you prefer Cas?”

“Most people call me Castiel,” he told her, shaking her hand briefly.

“Where’s Sam?” Dean wanted to know. “He and Dad aren’t doing their thing, are they?”

“Dean,” Mary said. She sounded only vaguely reproving. In fact, if Castiel hadn’t been listening for it, he might have heard something else entirely. “I’m sure the two of them are just fine.”

“Do you like chocolate?” Jess was asking him. “Someone brought amazing chocolate chip cookies. I think the cider might be left over from Friday, but it’s good cold, too.”

“I don’t know anyone who would turn down chocolate chip cookies,” Castiel said. Which was only partly true, but it was true that he didn’t currently _want_ to know anyone who would turn down chocolate chip cookies, so he thought it was close enough.

“Get me some too!” Dean called, as Jess waved for him to follow her.

Castiel came back with two cookies for him, eating another one, and no hands left over for cider. He counted the cookies as more important, and he suspected Dean would agree. What he wasn’t counting on was seeing both Sam and John standing there with Mary and Dean.

“Oh, red alert,” Jess said under her breath. “Sam says I have his permission to bail on family gatherings that look like that. What do you think?”

“Is it dangerous?” he murmured.

“Yeah,” she said. “I think it’s pretty miserable, actually. They do better when they’re not all in the same room.”

“Someone loaned me a pen during the service,” he said quietly. “We could go give it back to her.”

“Great idea,” Jess said, breaking off a piece of her own cookie and putting it into her mouth. “Who are we looking for?”

“Claudia,” Castiel said. “I believe she’s a friend of Dean’s.”

“Oh, one of the kids,” Jess said. She was scanning the room. “From Teen Bitch. He talks about them all the time.”

“What is Teen Bitch?” Castiel wanted to know. “Dean compared it to a bible study.”

“Yeah, that’s what he tells his dad,” Jess agreed. “I think it’s really called Youth Group, or Youth Study, or something. They meet every Wednesday night and talk about their problems. But they’re all teenagers, except for Dean, so you can imagine what their list of problems looks like.”

“I was never a teenager,” Castiel said.

“Me neither.” Jess’ grin was obvious in her voice. “I think Dean and Sam still are, though. They get along great with the kids, and the kids think they’re kickass. Especially Dean. He’s got that whole authority thing going on with the collar, you know? They love it when he acts out.”

“Does he act out often?” Castiel asked curiously. Dean struck him as more of a family man than a rebel, despite the image he seemed to casually project. His car, his music, his unworried pronouncement of opinions and his questions about anything that caught his eye.

The carelessness, Castiel was convinced, had to be an act.

“No,” Jess said. The answer didn’t surprise him. “Sam’s kind of the black sheep of the family. Even after their parents split, Dean tried to be his daddy’s boy. And I don’t mean that in a bad way; I think he really believes in what he’s doing. But it hasn’t been easy on him.”

Castiel wanted to ask, wanted to hear what Dean had struggled with, and what made him listen so carefully to everyone else when he seemed determined that his own voice had to stand alone. But he caught sight of Claudia only a second before Jess did, and while Jess waved he glanced back to see Dean watching them. He paused, torn between going back and going on.

“These cookies are the best,” Claudia’s voice was saying, and he turned away reluctantly.

“I believe this is yours,” Castiel told her, digging her pen out of his pocket. “Thank you for lending it to me.”

“Yeah, anytime,” she agreed. She plucked it out of his hand and stuffed it into the pocket of her coat, the sleeves of which were tied around her waist. “I think Dean’s looking for you.”

“Is his father still with him?” Jess asked.

Claudia shook her head. “He’s heading toward the kitchen.”

Castiel and Jess exchanged glances. “Safe,” Jess said.

“I’m not so sure,” Castiel said. “Dean’s mother seemed no less knowing to me.”

“Oh, she knows,” Jess said with a smile. “But if you treat her boy right, she’ll play nice. Believe me,” she added, “I’ve been there. Don’t think Sarah and I are any more traditional than you and Dean.”

“Oh!” Claudia said. “ _Oh,_ ” she repeated, staring at them with wide eyes. “Dean’s _friend_. Chris didn’t tell me that.”

Castiel almost laughed. He didn’t know why, except that suddenly the whole situation seemed ridiculous. He was hiding behind a teenager in a church community room in order to avoid the pastor, taking romantic advice from a woman who might or might not be involved in a polyamorous lesbian relationship, all because a large percentage of the congregation seemed to think he and the pastor’s son were sleeping together.

Not that he didn’t _want_ to be sleeping with the pastor’s son. Anything that kept Dean close was something he supported, and in his experience, intimate relationships were an excellent way to keep track of people whose lives were in danger. Dean had indicated that it wasn’t on the table. Castiel hoped that by the time he needed to be aware of Dean’s every activity, Dean might be willing to compromise.

“How much of a friend?” Jess asked, watching his expression change. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Just a friend,” he said quickly. He was pretty sure that doing anything to Dean’s reputation was a sure route to ostracization.

Jess just looked at him, but Claudia asked, “Um, a friend like a pastor would have, or a friend like I would have?”

“Oh, don’t say that,” Jess said. “I thought Chris was supposed to keep you from having friends like that.”

Claudia made an outraged sound. “I have friends!”

“Okay, we need a different word,” Jess said. “Friends and... special friends sounds stupid. Really good friends? Sleepover friends?”

“There have not been any sleepovers,” Castiel said.

“Velcro friends?” Claudia suggested.

Castiel eyed her. “What are velcro friends?”

“I saw it in a Hawaii Five-0 fic,” Claudia said. “It means you’re really clingy. Not that you and Dean are clingy. I mean, I didn’t even know you were together.”

“I think he’s saying they’re not together,” Jess said diplomatically. Or skeptically. She skirted the line between the two quite well, Castiel thought.

“That is what I’m saying,” he agreed. “I’m not familiar with the area, and Dean has been kind enough to show me around.”

“And if he kissed you a couple of times,” Jess added, “that just makes you look at us in a friendlier light. He’s like the missionary of friendliness.”

“Velcro friendliness,” Claudia said.

“I still don’t understand what that means,” Castiel told her. “Also, how quickly did everyone know about the kissing? Dean said he would hear about it, but I didn’t realize quite how fast the word would spread.”

“Castiel,” Jess said, and she definitely sounded amused. “That was two whole days ago. If this wasn’t Sunday, it would be old news by now.”

“Ah,” he said. “So you’re saying the fact that Dean’s father called him about it Saturday morning means that he was actually among the last to know?”

Jess folded her arms. “And how do you know Dean talked to his father Saturday morning?” she asked, smirking.

“I was there,” he said. “Again,” he added quickly. “Not still. I said there weren’t any sleepovers.”

Claudia sighed, but she looked more happy than depressed about it. “I wish I had non-velcro, non-sleepover friends like that.”

“No one has friends like that,” Jess said.

“Perhaps pastors do,” Castiel suggested.

“Perhaps?” Jess repeated. “You don’t sound very sure of that.”

“I hope you guys aren’t giving Cas a hard time,” Dean’s voice interrupted. “Are those my cookies? I saw you check us out and take off in the other direction, by the way. Thanks a lot.”

“Jess said she had Sam’s permission,” Castiel told him. He offered Dean the cookies.

“Oh, I get them both?” Dean said with a grin. “Is that ‘I’m sorry’ in Cas-speak?”

“No,” Castiel replied. “I already ate mine. And I’m not sorry. Your father is intimidating, and he must have some kind of limit on how long he can be nice to me before he strains something.”

Jess and Claudia were very quiet, he noticed. Dean, on the other hand, just raised one of the cookies in a mock toast and said, “He’s had a lot of practice smiling for an audience. Trust me, his limit’s like, up here.” He gestured with the other cookie, over his head, while he took a big bite of the first one.

“Hey,” Claudia protested. “You always tell us your dad’s not scary. How come he gets to say it and we don’t?”

“Because he’s new,” Dean told her. “You guys should have a tolerance by now. Cas has to be here every day, all day, and now dad’s gunning for him because of me. I think you can put up with him once a week for a couple of hours at a time.”

“Your dad’s gunning for me?” Castiel said. “I thought you said everything would be fine at church.”

“Everything is fine at church,” Dean pointed out. “But we’ll have to leave church eventually.”

“Perhaps we should do so when your father isn’t watching,” Castiel said.

“Yeah, I’m thinking that’s a good idea,” Dean agreed. He broke his second cookie down the middle and offered half to Castiel. “How about now?”

Castiel accepted the cookie. “Now sounds good to me.”

They made it as far as the bagel place before Dean’s phone vibrated, and he tossed it to Castiel while he parked. The screen read, _xmas tree yn?_

“Xmas tree yn,” Castiel read aloud. “It appears to be a question. From Sam,” he added, in case Dean had no reason to have guessed from the content of the message.

“Oh,” Dean said. He sounded nonplussed. “We were gonna get a tree. This weekend or next; we hadn’t decided.”

“You don’t want to,” Castiel said.

“No, I do,” Dean said. “I mean, we always have a tree. We all have trees. Sam ends up with trees everywhere, and I’m pretty sure he gets presents under all of them. He’s got it worked out.”

Castiel didn’t know what to say to that. He waited until Dean had turned the car off, drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel a moment, then glanced sideways at him. “You interested in helping us pick a tree?” he asked. He said it like it didn’t matter either way, like he was just throwing it out there, but if it was a spontaneous offer Castiel assumed it wouldn’t have taken him that long to come up with it.

The question was, had he hesitated because he was worried Castiel would say no? Or because he didn’t want Castiel to say yes?

“I am happy to spend time doing whatever you think is important,” Castiel said at last. That much was completely true. “But I have no wish to interrupt a moment of family bonding between you and your brother. I am relatively certain I can avoid your father’s wrath on my own if need be.”

“It’s only sort of family bonding,” Dean said. “Sam’ll probably bring Jess, and they’ll get something for their place too. I usually bring, uh... whichever of the kids is most upset, actually.” He finally looked at Castiel when he said that – actually turned and looked at him. “I don’t want you to think you’re some kind of project.”

“I don’t,” Castiel said automatically. Then he added, “Now.”

It made a smile flicker on Dean’s face. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to, you know. Do Christmas stuff just ’cause I ask you. I know you said you don’t celebrate; it’s just... it’s what we’re doing now, so it keeps coming up. I’ll do anything you want to do – I mean, not anything, but –”

Dean paused, then the corner of his mouth quirked again. “Actually, yeah,” he said. “Probably anything. Did I mention that I really like hanging out with you?”

“Dean,” Castiel said. “You misunderstood me.”

Dean frowned a little, and Castiel wished he hadn’t put that expression there. He should have started with “I like you too,” he supposed. But it seemed so obvious. It hadn’t occurred to him, and it was probably too late now.

“When I said I don’t celebrate,” he continued. “I didn’t mean I choose not to. I simply meant that there’s been little opportunity for me to do so lately. I would certainly enjoy the chance to participate in Christmas festivities with you.”

“Oh,” Dean said. “It’s not a religious thing.”

“It’s not a religious thing,” Castiel agreed. It was sort of a religious thing, and he sent a silent apology for the lie. But he didn’t know who he was sending it to, and that was most of the problem. He could as soon apologize to Dean, for all the good it would do.

“I’m not gonna harp on this,” Dean said. “I’ll probably say it again, because I can totally see myself getting drunk around you and I say a lot of stuff I don’t mean to when I’m drunk, but right now let’s pretend I’m going to do exactly what I say: you don’t have to tell me about what you did before you came here, okay? But I hope you know I’m listening if you ever want to share.”

Castiel smiled. “Now I must confess to a sudden and inappropriate urge to get you drunk.”

“Whatever,” Dean muttered, turning back to the steering wheel. He looked like he was trying to hide a smile. “Three hail marys for you.”

“I think you’re letting me off easy,” Castiel said.

“Fine,” Dean said. “Your punishment is that you have to come pick out a tree with me and Sam. Happy?”

“What do I have to confess to in order to get you to kiss me?” Castiel wanted to know.

Dean caught his eye again, and he was definitely smiling. “Wanting me to should do it.”

“I want you to kiss me,” Castiel said. “But –”

Dean was already leaning toward him, and he sat back with a groan. “I knew there had to be a catch.”

“We’re parked in full view of Main Street,” Castiel pointed out. “Jess assures me that word of our activities Friday night was old news by this morning.”

“Jess,” Dean said, “should keep her mouth shut.”

“You said something similar,” Castiel reminded him. “As a stranger in town, I have no reputation to protect, but I don’t want you to find that something I asked for put you in an uncomfortable position.”

“That’s because you’re a nice guy, Cas.” Dean was giving him a look that reminded Castiel of his mother’s momentary inscrutability. Like they knew something he didn’t. “But even nice guys can make a little mischief sometimes.”

“I will not endanger you,” Castiel said fiercely. “I am not here to cause you trouble, Dean.”

Dean blinked, and the unreadable look was gone. “Didn’t think you would,” he said. “A couple of kisses aren’t gonna make me a pariah.”

“How many people have you gone out with since seminary?” Castiel asked suddenly. He shouldn’t ask this. He definitely shouldn’t want to know this. It had nothing to do with saving Dean; Dean was clearly fine on his own. There would be the one moment where he needed an intervention, and then he would carry on as he had. As he did now.

Brightly. Perfectly. Without Castiel, because Castiel had other things to do. Other interventions to stage, other rescues to hide, if he could. And if he couldn’t, well. It was the end of the line either way.

Dean was frowning again. “What does that have to do with anything?”

He was defensive about it. And oh, that wasn’t a good sign. Castiel should stop, he shouldn’t push this. This was completely the opposite of what he should be doing.

“I’m only curious,” he began. “How unusual this is. For you. You certainly are under no obligation to tell me.”

“No, I’m not,” Dean said irritably. “What does it matter, anyway?”

It didn’t. It didn’t matter at all.

“It matters because I like you,” Castiel said quietly. “More than I expected to, truth be told. And I’m not sure what to do about it.”

Dean was quiet for several seconds. “One,” he said at last. “Since school.”

“Did the town like him?” Castiel asked.

Dean stared at him. “They seem to,” he said.

Oh. That wasn’t good, Castiel told himself. That wasn’t good at all. He wanted Dean to like him, he needed Dean to trust him. He’d put himself in charge of Dean’s soul – briefly, fleetingly, for that one tiny moment when it would hang in the balance and he would be able to do something. Something to make it stay: here, where it was needed.

But he couldn’t stay with it. He wanted this companionship; he wanted to give and take and enjoy for as long as he could. But as long as he could wasn’t very long, and he couldn’t be the person Dean would never forget.

He should be able to keep himself from smiling at Dean’s words.

“Oh, great,” Dean muttered, giving him a dirty look. “Now you’re going to be impossible, aren’t you. Just remember, I tell _everyone_ they’re awesome.”

“Apparently, however, you do not date ‘everyone’,” Castiel said. “If I heard you correctly, you just awarded sole dating distinction to me.”

“Since school!” Dean protested. “I dated other people before I graduated!”

Castiel just smiled.

“I’m texting Sam,” Dean informed him. “Barring serious issues on your part, we’re going to get a tree. ‘We’ being me, you, Sam, and whoever Sam brings, and ‘issues’ being... I can’t even guess. I can’t think of anything you could say right now that would make me feel that sorry for you, so.”

Castiel decided not to think about why this was a bad thing for at least another day.


	2. Chapter 2

**6 December**

He was distracted the next day by the man who showed up at the church just before lunch time. The third man to show up at the church that morning, actually, and the third one who wasn’t Dean. He wasn’t expecting Dean, except in the way that he had wanted every footstep he heard to belong to him.

Not a good thing, he reminded himself.

Not a permanent thing, he countered. He could feel however he felt, as long as Dean wasn’t hurt. He was still relatively certain he could keep Dean from getting hurt. Maybe ninety-five percent certain.

The first man who had arrived at the church hadn’t tried to speak to Castiel. He seemed to be part of the ongoing rotation of people through the building. The second was the same, possibly relieving the first, since the first left a few minutes after the second arrived. Not until the third called up to where Castiel was working did he know this one was any different.

“Castiel up there?” the unfamiliar voice called.

“Here,” he called down.

“Can I come up?” the man wanted to know.

It really wasn’t Castiel’s place to tell him no, so he said yes. The man appeared through the hole Castiel had made in the roof a couple of minutes later, clearly taking care with his climbing. Castiel appreciated that.

“Hi,” the man said. “Allan. Heard you might need some help.”

“Indeed,” Castiel said, taking a closer look at him. He was dressed in work clothes and he looked solid enough. He also looked sincere. “Do you have time to spend?”

“Not working right now,” Allan said gruffly. “Rather being doing something useful with myself, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” Castiel said. “How did you...” He waved around the roof, but _hear about the roof_ didn’t seem to be clear enough to make the man reply. “I haven’t seen you at church before,” he said instead.

“From the next town over,” Allan said. “I go to St. Vincent’s. Catholic. Pope shut us down six years ago; we’ve been keeping vigil ever since. Pastor John’s been right there with us. This place isn’t in any danger, but there’s someone here round the clock anyway. Figure if you’re gonna do that for us, I can do this thing for you.”

Castiel wanted to ask. He’d clearly missed something in his research – he’d gotten lazy when he met John’s family. He thought he knew more about them than he could ever look up. That was, on some level, likely true, but it wasn’t enough if someone could show up and tell him something he should already know. As though explanations were not only unnecessary but redundant.

“I’d be glad to have your help,” he said instead.

Hours later, he was more glad than he’d said he was that morning. Allan did know what he was doing. He was out of work because he worked construction, and there wasn’t much to do the first week of December. This project was one he could have handled himself – and might, if Castiel wasn’t careful.

Fortunately, Allan seemed willing to let him offer direction and work prioritization. He’d planned to reroute the electricity and improve the heating and insulation while he was up there, mostly because it would keep him occupied longer than just repairing the structural integrity of the roof. He didn’t know exactly how long he would need to wait for Dean... though he was starting to hope it would be longer than usual.

Allan could have moved up his timetable quite a bit if he wasn’t more willing to talk than he’d seemed at first. As he and Castiel settled into the cold of the afternoon, it finally seemed acceptable to admit that he wasn’t familiar with the pastor’s pseudo-vigil. In sympathy for the Catholic church closings, Allan explained, Pastor John had suggested – and received, through volunteers – a 24/7 presence at the church to echo the vigils being held by their Catholic neighbors.

“Only way to keep ’em from locking us out,” Allan said. “Someone’s gotta be there all the time. Don’t think they figured we’d last this long, of course. Didn’t think Pastor John would, either.”

“He’s a strong man,” Castiel said.

“Ain’t they all,” Allan said. “God bless ’em.”

He wouldn’t, Castiel knew. But perhaps some of the power was in the praying, after all. Dean prayed – or so he assumed – and here Castiel was. It was correlative, if not causative, and maybe that was something.

“Amen,” Castiel said quietly. Just in case.

 **7 December**

The call he’d been trying not to make came at 7:30 Tuesday morning. His phone said _Dean_ and he picked it up immediately. “Hello, Dean,” he said.

“Hey,” Dean’s voice said. “So I was going to call you last night, but then I thought maybe that would be weird, and I don’t want you to think I’m stalking you. But then I heard some guy came over to help you out with the roof, so I totally would have had an excuse, except by the time I found out it was after nine. I try not to call people after nine unless I know they’re gonna be up.”

“You may call me at any time,” Castiel told him. “I’m rarely in bed by nine.”

“But you’re up at seven-thirty,” Dean observed. “I wasn’t sure about that either, but I figured I could only call it politeness so many times before I had to admit I was just scared to call and find you gone.”

“It’s strange to me,” Castiel said, “that you apparently think so much of my construction abilities and so little of my social skills. Especially given that you have vastly more personal experience with the latter than the former.”

“I’m a little worried that you just called me stupid,” Dean’s voice said.

“I’m a little worried that you are stupid,” Castiel replied. “I like you, Dean. We are, by your own declaration, dating. I’m not going to leave town without telling you.”

“Promise?” Dean joked. In the way he had that wasn’t a joke at all.

“I promise,” Castiel said.

“Okay,” Dean said. “So how’s it going?”

“Allan is quite helpful,” Castiel told him. “Perhaps too helpful: I may have to find another roof to repair, at the rate we’re going.”

“I’m sure we can find something for you to do,” Dean said. “Like dinner. You want to do dinner tonight?”

Castiel smiled down at the little hotel table next to his bed. “I’d like that very much,” he said. “You should know, however, that I am capable of cooking, if provided with the means to do so.”

“What, you mean, for other people?” Dean sounded almost comically surprised. “Was that a stupid question?”

“No,” Castiel said. “And yes, for other people. For you, if you like.”

“I like,” Dean replied instantly. “You don’t have a kitchen, I remember. You can use mine any time. I’m not kidding.”

“Tonight?” Castiel suggested.

“Yeah, absolutely,” Dean agreed. Then, “No. I mean, yes, but no. Sarah’s coming over tonight. I told Sam I’d get out of his way.”

“What time?” Castiel asked.

“Six,” Dean said. “Let me take you out tonight. You can impress me with your cooking skills next time. It’ll give us an excuse for another date.”

“If we need one,” Castiel said. “Or I could go over early and put something in. It wouldn’t be gourmet, but we could take it with us before Sam and Sarah arrive.”

“Wow, Cas, you need to stop being my fantasy.” Dean’s voice sounded like he was grinning. “We keep a spare key in a keybox under the basement window. Behind the crazy glass dragon Sam won’t let me get rid of.”

“I know where you mean,” Castiel said with a smile. “I’ll wash whatever I use afterwards.”

“Nah, text me when you’re done,” Dean said. “I might be able to get out early this afternoon. I’ll come home and be your dishwasher.”

“I can’t say no to that,” Castiel said. “You’ll have to decide where we go to eat. Otherwise I’m likely to bring you back to my hotel room.”

“I can get behind that,” Dean’s voice replied. “You’ve got a table, right?”

Castiel glanced over at the table in the kitchenette, currently covered with everything he knew about Dean and his family. “Indeed,” he said. “I’ll have to neaten up a little.”

“Don’t you dare,” Dean said with a chuckle. “You hung out at my place watching cartoon reruns and eating cold cereal. I don’t want to see anything but the real you when I come over.”

Castiel didn’t doubt that Dean thought that was true. “I understand,” he said.

“You’re gonna clean anyway,” Dean said over the phone.

He let his mouth curve into a smile. “Yes.”

“Fine,” Dean said. “Whatever. Like I didn’t spend two hours Saturday morning making my place look less like a train wreck. You should have seen Sam’s face when he came home.”

Castiel refrained from pointing out that he had seen Sam’s face, and it had been hilarious. He didn’t think Dean knew he’d been listening when they had their hushed conversation at the door. Sam had clearly been on his way upstairs to crash, but he’d stopped to offer a polite “good morning” to Castiel.

Castiel still wasn’t sure if that had been Sam’s idea, or Dean’s.

Allan didn’t seem bothered when he mentioned that he was leaving early that afternoon, even though he didn’t explain why. It felt rude, but flaunting a date with the pastor’s son might be more so. He told Allan he could continue work or not, as he pleased. If the weather held then they weren’t much more than a day away from being done anyway.

He thought about grocery-shopping instead. He had a sketchy notion of what Dean liked at this point. He had a much more firm grasp of what he could plausibly make. It seemed more pleasant to focus on food than what the future might hold, and Castiel was nothing if not a master of focus.

 **7 December again, but later**

“This is definitely unfair,” Dean said. “Not only do you have less stuff than I do, but you have more places to put it.”

“That is a ridiculous argument,” Castiel informed him. “I have far fewer places to put things than you do.”

“I mean you have bags,” Dean said. “Stuff to carry stuff in. Because you’re used to... I’m only digging myself deeper here, aren’t I.”

“Suggesting that I’m fortunate because I’m a vagabond with few possessions and even fewer things of import is probably not the most sensitive portrayal of my situation,” Castiel agreed, amused. “But your objection has been noted.”

“I didn’t say what you had wasn’t important,” Dean countered. “You just threw that in there yourself.”

“Ah,” Castiel said. “So not only do I have little to my name, but my predicament is largely of my own making?”

“It’s dangerous to talk around you,” Dean said. “I don’t run into that very often.”

“Are you enjoying the challenge?” Castiel inquired. Dean’s eyes had come to rest on Castiel’s window, and it had taken him no time at all to realize that Dean wasn’t interested in the view. He was looking at the travel clock Castiel had left, partially hidden behind one of the curtains.

“A little,” Dean admitted, glancing back at him.

Castiel smiled, and Dean added, “Can I give you a ‘thanks for making dinner’ kiss?”

Surprised, Castiel meant to say yes. But what came out was, “You haven’t tried it yet. How can you be sure it deserves a kiss?”

“It does,” Dean said confidently. “I’m sure.”

He wasn’t getting any closer, so Castiel assumed that part was up to him. “I see,” he said. He stepped around the little table, leaving everything where they’d set it when they came in. “You are aware, I think, that that wasn’t the question?”

“Are you aware that there’s pretty much nothing you could do that I wouldn’t want to kiss you for?” Dean countered.

Castiel smiled again, and Dean said, “Like that. Every time I see you do that, I want to kiss you.”

Whatever he had inadvertently done, it hadn’t been obvious enough for him to know what Dean was talking about. “Do what?”

“Smile,” Dean said, meeting him between the chairs. “Like you do.”

In lieu of anything more responsive, Castiel repeated, “I see.”

Dean lifted a hand to cup his cheek, fingers gentle on his skin. “I don’t think you do,” he said, more quietly. “But that’s okay, ’cause I don’t really know what this means to you either.”

Castiel wasn’t sure if he was meant to kiss or talk. Kissing seemed safer. So of course he said, “Should I tell you?”

“Probably not,” Dean said with a sigh. “I’ve known you, like, a week.”

“I don’t know what that has to do with it,” Castiel said. “Are you more or less likely to want the truth as our relationship progresses?”

“The truth,” Dean repeated, his thumb sliding along Castiel’s jaw. “Do you have the truth, Cas? Can I get the long version, or does it only come in fortune cookie lengths?”

“I do have the truth,” Castiel murmured, which he definitely shouldn’t say and he had no idea why Dean staring at him like that would make him so careless. “I have a truth which would answer all your questions about me, and I will likely never share it, because you’re too afraid to ask.”

Dean’s hand stilled on his face. “If I did ask, would you tell me?”

Absolutely not.

“Yes,” Castiel said.

“Tell me,” Dean said.

Castiel couldn’t look away. “What do you want to know?”

“Why are you here?” Dean asked softly. Where exactly he meant was unclear: the town, the building, anywhere Dean was. _Why now_ was maybe implicit in the question. Maybe not.

“I came to find you,” Castiel told him. “You’re going to need help. Soon. If you let me, I can be the help you need.”

Dean would ask; he had to ask. They always did. Anyone who got this far kept going: why would they need help, why did he care, what was he going to do? _How did he know?_ He didn’t know why he always told them. He’d even shown a couple of them, proven what they doubted, until it started to get him noticed before he could finish what he came to do.

He hadn’t made that mistake again.

“And then?” Dean said.

Castiel blinked at him, power and regret derailed and dinner cooling on the table beside them. “And then what?”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “After you help me, after you –” He waved his free hand impatiently. “After you’re satisfied. Then what?”

Castiel frowned. “Then my work here is done,” he said. Obviously. He tried not to think about what that meant in practical terms, because he knew how to move on. That was all he did. It wasn’t like they never asked him to stay, but he was what he was. He didn’t belong here. He didn’t belong anywhere for long.

“In that case,” Dean said, “I think I’m gonna need a lot of help.”

Before Castiel could stop him, Dean had leaned in for one kiss and then another, kissing him sweetly and swiftly and repeatedly. Like he could make up in number what he sacrificed in depth. Like he didn’t mean to linger but he couldn’t let go.

Like they were two people whose destinies were converging with rapid and awesome force, and the choice they had would never be as clear as it was right now.

“Dean,” Castiel murmured in between kisses. “I’m not kidding.”

Dean pressed their mouths together long enough to silence him. “Neither am I,” Dean whispered as he pulled away. His hand had slid from Castiel’s face to the back of his jaw, fingers teasing his hair and his palm just a breath away from drawing Castiel back in. “You’re a solider, a missionary, a crazy volunteer who makes his life saving people and helping things. I get it.

“What I don’t get,” Dean added, “is why you think that’s enough. What do _you_ get out of it, Cas? Whatever you’re doing, whatever you do it for, where’s the thing at the end of the day that tells you you did a good job? What do you come back to, and look at, and think to yourself, ‘yeah, this was worth it’?”

“It’s right in front of me,” Castiel said. “You. People like you. You’re all I have.”

“You’ve done this before,” Dean said quietly. He tipped his head forward, resting his forehead against Castiel’s, and his free hand caught just above Castiel’s wrist. Loose hold tighter than he might have realized, given that Castiel couldn’t pull away without revealing more of himself than he was ready to show.

“Yes,” Castiel said, because he should. Because he had.

But Dean’s disappointment was palpable, crushing, something that forced itself in without Dean making a single discernible movement, and Castiel heard himself saying, “No. The helping – the saving, yes. The feelings are new.”

“The dating?” Dean murmured.

Castiel swallowed, closing his eyes. “I do that. It makes people trust me more.”

There was a very long silence. Dean didn’t pull away, and the hand on his neck stayed where it was. The hand on his wrist squeezed a little harder, and finally Dean said, “You go out with people so they’ll let you help them.”

“Yes,” Castiel said.

“Is that why you’re going out with me?” Dean asked.

“It’s why I started going out with you,” Castiel admitted. “It’s not why I’m here tonight.”

“Why’s that?” Dean wanted to know.

“To be with you,” Castiel said softly.

“So you can save me,” Dean said.

“So I can have something,” Castiel whispered. “So I can have something at the end of the day that I come back to and look at and think, ‘this is worth it.’”

“We all make you think that?” Dean asked. “You never save anyone that you think, ‘hey, maybe he would have been okay alone,’ or ‘the world didn’t really need that one’?”

Castiel opened his eyes. “I’m not talking about anyone,” he said. “I’m talking about you, making my whole life worthwhile. Just you. Right now. Just me making you dinner and holding on to you and hoping that you decide I’m only a little crazy, because being with you these last few days has been better than anything I’ve done in a long time.”

Dean was just standing there, leaning on him, breathing the same air and not letting him go. “Are you a little crazy?” he asked at last. “’Cause I gotta tell you, Cas, that would be the easy thing to think here. Crazy messed-up vet, leftover table manners and just charming enough that everyone lets his psychosis slide.”

Yes, Castiel thought. Just say yes.

Dean would believe it if he said it, and it might even be okay.

“Don’t lie,” Dean said quietly. “You said you had the truth if I was brave enough to ask. I’m asking.”

“No,” Castiel said. “I’m not crazy. I’m going to save your life, and if I’m very lucky, you’ll forgive me long enough to let me say goodbye.”

“Doubt it,” Dean said. His tone was offhand, light and unstudied and not at all like he was listening. Like maybe he’d stopped somewhere along the line and now he was humoring the crazy man. “The goodbye thing, I mean. Never been very good at it.”

“I’m not crazy,” Castiel repeated.

“I believe you,” Dean said evenly. “Maybe you’re some kind of angel, what do I know.”

Castiel stared at him. It wasn’t easy, with their faces as close together as they were. He couldn’t actually look into Dean’s eyes, but on the other hand, he didn’t need to. He could see perfectly well that Dean was telling the truth – and that his definition of “angel” was decidedly non-traditional.

“But here’s the thing,” Dean said. “Say you save my life. Say you get whatever you want to get out of it, say I do, it doesn’t matter. We hang out, we have a good time, you take off. Whenever. You promised to say goodbye, so at least I won’t wake up one morning with nothing but your phone number and a cell phone picture of your stupid car.”

Dean seemed to reconsider before Castiel could ask when he’d taken a cell phone picture of his (very practical) car. “Actually, even if you warn me first, I guess that’s gonna happen,” he said. “That’s sort of the whole point.”

It had been the point when Dean first asked him out, Castiel knew. He was a stranger, he wasn’t someone Dean would have to live with. He wasn’t someone anyone would have to live with. Whatever they were doing, it could be between them, and then it could be over. Unlike almost everything else in this town where Dean kept his entire life.

“I’ll still need you,” Dean was saying. “Whatever you think I need saving from, I’ll just need it again after you leave. It’s not a long-term fix, Cas. It can’t be; it’s just... this. It’s just right now.”

“I’ll take right now,” Castiel said quietly.

“Me too.” Dean’s words breathed across his skin, warm and more welcoming than anything else Castiel had found along the way. “But I think it might not be what I want.”

Wanting was still something of a recent phenomenon for Castiel, and he didn’t know how to say so without sounding... inhuman. “I’m learning how to want,” he mumbled, because apparently he had no control over his mouth when he and Dean were in the same room. “It’s not a concept I’m overly familiar with.”

Strangely, it made Dean’s breath huff across his face in a laugh. “Yeah,” he said, louder and more relaxed than he’d been since he’d asked for the truth. “I definitely get that from you.”

“If you still want me to stay after... after this,” Castiel said, “after what happens, after –” He still couldn’t see it. He still didn’t know when. He didn’t know whether that was good or bad: he had more time, he could stay with Dean, he wasn’t prepared, he might be caught unaware. He didn’t know how to finish.

“I know you can’t,” Dean said. “I didn’t get into this with any crazy romantic ideas. You’re not gonna stay, I’m not gonna leave. Things don’t have to go on forever to mean something, okay? I can want and not have. And that’s as much truth as I’ve got.”

“If you still want to make me stay,” Castiel whispered, hands on Dean’s waist and his fingers clenched in the bottom of his shirt. “Afterwards... I promise to let you try.”

Dean didn’t answer right away.

He wasn’t sure how long they stood there, but he knew it was over when Dean straightened abruptly. “I promise to eat your food,” he said, in a funny echo that made it sound like he’d been listening but revealed nothing. “Movie after?”

“There’s nothing good playing,” Castiel murmured.

Dean laughed out loud.

He’d said it absently, not meaning it as a joke, but if Dean could still sound so happy then he certainly wasn’t going to complain. “We could just stay here,” Castiel suggested. “Surely our chances at finding something on television are no worse than at the theater.”

“No good,” Dean said, still smiling. “My car’s out front, Cas. Everyone knows I’m here, and if we spend the whole evening in your hotel room, unsupervised...”

“They will think exactly what they already think,” Castiel said, but he knew the argument was futile.

“Can’t do anything about my dad,” Dean said. “No reason to get the rest of the town on board with him.”

So they went out to see a movie after they ate (a highly palatable) dinner, and Castiel paid no attention to it whatsoever. Mostly because Dean spent the entire movie whispering his life story in Castiel’s ear, which was enjoyable and funny and somewhat inexplicable, given that Dean had shown little interest in disclosing details of his own history prior to this. It was a gift Castiel had never expected.

Finally he turned his head, catching Dean just as he leaned in to continue his story. “Why are you telling me all this?” Castiel asked softly.

Dean didn’t seem surprised. “Because you told me what you’re doing.”

He waited while Castiel thought about that. The only reasonable response he could come up with was, “But I didn’t tell you who I am.”

“Just the truth, Cas.” Dean’s voice was quiet and gentle as he breathed the words under the background noise of the movie. “If you can’t give me that, then I don’t really want to hear it.”

In that moment, he wanted to be so much closer than they were, and the only way he could do it was with words. “You called me an angel,” he whispered.

Dean was very still. “I didn’t,” he said.

“If you had,” Castiel murmured. “You wouldn’t have been wrong.”

Something on the screen exploded, and Dean’s face was cast in sharp relief. He didn’t look skeptical. He didn’t really look anything, and Castiel didn’t know how he could do that when everything about him was pouring out through his words. “Okay,” Dean said softly. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Of anything Castiel might have expected him to say, that wasn’t it. “You don’t have to,” he said, because he’d already decided. It was why he’d come, why’d chosen this town in the first place. “I won’t let you down.”

“I don’t ask other people for stuff,” Dean muttered. “You got that, right? I’m telling you, like, everything I know about myself, which is about a hundred times more than anyone else even cares, so I kind of hope you’re listening.”

“You don’t ask for help for yourself,” Castiel said. “Your parents modeled self-sufficiency from an early age, and as the oldest sibling in the divorce, you took it upon yourself to shield Sam as much as possible. You’ve acted as a mediator between your parents your entire life, and now as a member of the clergy, you feel that everyone who comes to you for advice is your responsibility.

“There comes a point, Dean, where you no longer have to ask.” Castiel watched Dean stare back at him, and for the first time he caught a flicker of the wild hope that Dean was trying so desperately to suppress. “You just have to let someone do it for you.”

It wasn’t the hope of salvation, Castiel thought. Dean genuinely had no care for being saved: Castiel couldn’t tell if he didn’t believe the danger existed, or if he just didn’t think it was literal. Instead, Dean hoped he was telling the truth because it would mean that he wasn’t crazy... and that Dean might not be alone.

It made Castiel want to crush him – so very carefully – into reassurance and comfort and the understanding that everything he offered to other people was for him as well.

“Do you ever ask?” Dean asked, very softly.

That wasn’t what Castiel had expected him to say.

“I mean it,” Dean whispered. He was leaning closer, closer than they needed to be to talk, even in a crowded theater. Their preoccupation would be obvious to everyone around them, and Castiel was relatively certain that a significant percentage of the audience had recognized Dean when he came in. “Maybe you should let someone do something for you, Cas.”

He didn’t think that was a good idea. It didn’t even apply to him, he didn’t need anything. He’d never wanted anything except to love and to serve, and he _did_ that. He did that as best he could, considering the circumstances in which he found himself. There was nothing anyone else could do for him.

“Let me,” Dean breathed, and his lips brushed against Castiel’s. The kiss was chaste and fleeting and Castiel followed long enough to kiss him again. Dean not only allowed the kiss but returned it before pulling away, his hand fumbling for Castiel’s.

They sat there, holding hands, for several minutes before Dean tipped his head toward Castiel again and murmured, “You were totally right, by the way. Should’ve stayed in and watched TV.”

Castiel smiled into the strange light of a darkened movie theater.

 **8 December**

He’d been expecting a visit from Pastor John. If only because work on the roof was almost finished, and at some point the pastor would either notice or, at the very least, inquire. Allan had been more help than expected. Castiel noticed, though, that the pastor did not appear until after he’d left for the day.

He might have thought he was being overly suspicious, but Dean had said it himself: it was that kind of town. Anyone could be keeping the pastor informed about current church visitors, from the keepers of the vigil in the building itself to people driving by on the street. If he showed up when Castiel was alone, then he’d probably meant for it to happen that way.

They successfully made small talk for almost a minute and a half. This was about a minute and twenty-five seconds longer than Castiel had expected either of them to manage. When the conversation finally turned to the roof, he was relieved. This he could talk about, and when the subject of Dean came up – as he was sure it had to – he would at least see it coming.

“Tomorrow, huh?” John was saying. “You got plans? When you’re done here, I mean?”

“None of us know what the future may hold,” Castiel said. “I’m sure there are other places in need of assistance. I will likely find myself in one of them.”

“So, no,” John said. “What about the holiday? There family that’s expecting you?”

“I... am not in close contact with members of my immediate family,” Castiel said carefully.

“Look, I don’t mean to pry,” John began.

This was clearly inaccurate, Castiel thought. And to John’s credit, he supposed. Much as he wasn’t enjoying this conversation, he would be far less pleased if Dean’s father ignored the man his son was dating, writing him off as harmless or worse.

“I don’t have any idea what your financial situation is, family, friends, any of that,” John was saying. “But you’re handy, and there’s definitely people in town who could use some help, you know... on and off for the next few weeks. People get busy during the holidays. You know how it is.”

He didn’t, not really. But he thought he understood what Pastor John was offering. “You’re inviting me to remain in the area,” Castiel said. “I would have thought...” He trailed off, waiting to see if John would interject.

The pastor just looked at him.

“I thought you might be glad to see me move on,” Castiel said. “You certainly didn’t count on me becoming involved with your son.”

John’s face relaxed into a smile. “I don’t know what you’ve heard, Castiel, but I like you. You’re refreshingly honest.”

“It isn’t intentional,” Castiel said. “I simply see no purpose in pretending things are not what they are.”

Which was exactly the kind of deception John seemed to praise him for avoiding. He did see the purpose: pretending things were other than what they were had the power to make people do what he wanted them to do with a minimum of coercion. When it came to things he needed to know, however, he found little harm in asking for them.

“I didn’t see you and Dean coming,” John admitted. “But Dean has a way of surprising me. And you seem like a decent guy. If you don’t have anywhere else to go for Christmas, well. I think I speak for all of us when I say we’d like to have you here.”

“What if we break up before then?” Castiel blurted out.

This made John give him an odd look. He realized after the fact that it might not be considered an “easy” question. “Son,” John said. “What’s between you and Dean is between you and Dean. All I’m trying to do is to make sure you know you’re welcome if you choose to stay.”

“Am I?” Castiel wasn’t convinced of this. Just saying something didn’t make it true.

“Any friend of Dean’s is a friend of mine,” John told him. “He’s always known that.”

This, Castiel reasoned, Dean would at least be able to confirm or deny to his satisfaction. So he accepted it for the moment, thanked Pastor John, and turned down his additional invitation to the family’s weekly dinner. If John was surprised, he didn’t let it show.

Castiel spent the time instead in quiet contemplation. There were things he should know about Dean that he still did not, and he didn’t understand why the information hadn’t come to him. What would he have to do to ensure Dean’s safety? When would action be required of him?

Perhaps most importantly, since those details had always become clear in the past but he had no way of knowing whether his other questions would be answered or not: what would happen when Dean was safe again? Would he, as he claimed, feel dependent on Castiel for an extended period of time? Would leaving him adversely affect his emotional well-being? Was Castiel setting them both up to fail, even in the wake of what should be one of the luckiest moments of Dean’s life?

He thought his way through as many possibilities as he could envision, but none of them seemed more clear than the others. Nothing presented itself as the most likely result no matter how long he spent on the mental comparison. He ended up frustrated on all fronts, with no more answers than he’d started with.

The only thing he did have was a new text message from Dean.

 _missed u @dinner,_ it said. _come by after tb, church @9?_

It took him a moment to guess that “tb” meant Teen Bitch, and nine must be when it ended. He was certainly curious to see Dean’s “youth study.” More than that, he was tired of waiting for what he didn’t know. He missed Dean too, and he hadn’t even known how to say it until Dean had texted the words to him just now.

 _Yes,_ he texted back. It was almost eight-thirty. He’d been only peripherally aware of the passage of time, and he couldn’t help wondering how the family dinner had gone. It was nice of Dean to say he was missed, though it made little sense in the context of a guest who had come only once before.

He sent a second, impulsive text: _Is now okay?_

After he’d sent it, he wished he could take it back. Of course now wasn’t okay, or Dean would have said “come by now.” Moreover, Dean was trying to run a youth study group. He wouldn’t be checking his text messages in the middle of a meeting.

Castiel was still staring at his phone when it vibrated a few seconds later. _sure,_ it said.

He picked up his keys, his wallet, and his coat and went out into the cold. Dean had given him some music, which he played for the very few minutes it took to drive from the Three Birds to the church. He barely made it through “The Altar and the Door” before he was pulling into the church parking lot. It didn’t matter. He’d already listened to all of the songs multiple times.

The silence as he climbed out into the darkness felt lonely for the first time that night. He could see lights from the community room, though, and he wished he was already inside. The air felt harsh and strangely foreboding, as though a front were sweeping in from somewhere to the west. He wondered fleetingly if he should have listened for a weather report on the way over instead of playing recorded music.

He could hear live music as soon as he opened the outer door. There were shoes piled up in the entryway, though not as many coats as he would have expected: less than one for each pair of footwear, if he had to guess. He shrugged out of his coat anyway, hanging it near Dean’s leather jacket. He left his shoes too, padding over to the inner door in stocking feet.

He paused with his hand on the door when he recognized Dean’s voice. There was a woman’s voice, too, and the sound of a single guitar. Was it Dean playing? He wasn’t even sure if Dean played guitar, and suddenly it seemed like something he should be sure of. How could he not know that?

“I’m gonna take the high road,” the voices were singing, “and do what the preacher told me to.”

Castiel had a moment of doubt. This was a church. Dean was teaching children to worship a god Castiel couldn’t look up to anymore. He didn’t belong here, he wouldn’t be able to listen, Dean would get angry.

“You keep messing up, and I’ll keep praying for you.” Dean and the unidentified female voice finished what might have been a verse, since a chorus of voices joined in: “I pray your brakes go out at a hundred and ten, I pray you pass out drunk with your best friend and wake up with his and her tattoos...”

He almost laughed out loud. He wanted to, which was sometimes a strange feeling, although it hadn’t been uncommon this past week.

“I pray a flowerpot falls from a windowsill and knocks you in the head like I’d like to!” The voices were loud and cheerful and Castiel pushed the door open before he could think about it any longer. “I pray your birthday comes and nobody calls –”

He saw Dean look around, and everything about the scene flashed through his mind even as their eyes met. Chairs gathered in a shape entirely unlike a circle, with kids in them or leaning on them or lying on the floor next to them, singing or shouting or not talking at all. Two of them were apparently whispering to each other while the song went on around them.

Dean was, indeed, the one with the guitar. It was Claudia next to him, and Castiel knew immediately that she had been the one singing when it was just two of them. It was at least a dozen people now, though the room held close to twenty. None of them were wearing their shoes, though some of them did have coats on.

It wasn’t very warm, Castiel realized distantly. There was a space heater going, but the warm air it kicked out was in noticeable contrast to the rest of the room. More interesting to him was how comfortable Dean looked with his guitar. And the kids. Singing.

Wearing jeans and a rock shirt in church. Singing about the terrible things they prayed for. Maybe it was just the unexpectedness of it that he found enjoyable.

Dean was grinning at him, unapologetic and happy and raising his voice as loud as the kids. He jerked his head at the group, inviting Castiel in, and a couple of the kids were turning to look but no one had stopped singing. “...near or far, in your house or in your car, wherever you are, I pray for you!”

The guitar continued, and Claudia and Dean sang, “I pray for you, I pray for you...” until the kids started to trail off. More of them were shifting, their attention open and interested as Castiel made his cautious way around the edge of the group.

Finally Dean clapped his hand over the guitar strings and said, “Hey, Cas.”

Castiel smiled his thanks as a couple of kids moved, clearly making room to let him in, and Dean waved for him to bring over another chair. “Pull up a seat,” he said. “Welcome to Teen Bitch. Guys, this is Castiel; he’s been fixing up the roof and being generally awesome since sometime last week.”

“Hi,” Claudia said, waving at him from the other side of Dean.

“Hi, Castiel,” someone else added.

He recognized most of the kids he’d met at church, and the rest of them started to introduce themselves without any kind of prompting. There were almost as many boys as girls, which he could only attribute to the fact that Dean was – as he himself had claimed – something of a role model.

“Glad you came,” Dean said, smiling at him when they’d all gone around the circle. “Got any problems you want to share?”

“Right now,” he admitted, “I feel as though I have very few.” He hadn’t expected to feel that way until after he had saved Dean – usually his chosen missions plagued him until they were resolved, increasing urgency as time grew short causing him to feel as though he would never breathe normally again.

He didn’t know when Dean would need him, but at this moment he felt like he was right where he was supposed to be.

“Wow,” Alison said. “That’s like the opposite of the Teen Bitch philosophy.”

“It’s the second half hour,” Marita pointed out. “We’re supposed to be more positive in the second half hour.”

“The first thirty minutes are for bitching,” Dean told him. “After that we’re supposed to make each other feel better some other way.”

“Like by singing,” Castiel said.

Dean grinned. “They say it’s good for the soul?”

“It totally made me feel better to hear that you guys were making out behind the church last Friday,” Alison said. “I’m just saying.”

“Uh, we weren’t making out,” Dean said. “That’s an exaggeration, if anyone’s wondering.”

“Sadie says Ennis saw you,” Alison said. “And Claudia says Castiel and Jess were talking about it at church on Sunday.”

“I did not!” Claudia protested. “I said Castiel said he was at Dean’s house when Dean’s dad called to yell at him for it Saturday morning! That’s all!”

Castiel could feel Dean raising an eyebrow at him, so he murmured, “Jess asked me.”

“What, if you slept over?” Dean demanded.

“Yes,” Castiel said.

“No,” Dean said quickly, casting an eye around the circle. “He didn’t, so I don’t want to hear it from anyone’s parents next weekend.”

“I was at Dean’s house to do laundry,” Castiel offered. “Saturday morning.”

“After making out with him Friday night,” Kylen said.

Castiel glanced at Dean, who only rolled his eyes. “The difference between kissing and making out is the difference between hugging someone and groping them,” he said. “Try to remember that when you’re in public, guys.”

“So are you and Castiel dating?” Marita asked.

“Yeah,” Dean said. He looked back at Castiel and smiled. “We’re modeling the four stages of teen romance for you guys. Meet, fall in love, celebrate your one-week anniversary, break up. Wanna break up tomorrow?” he added. “Get that step out of the way?”

“What do we do after we break up?” Castiel asked. “Rebound?”

“Hey, yeah, we could do that with each other,” Dean said. “Just to make it more authentic.”

“Are you gonna stick around?” Claudia asked. “Castiel? I mean, do you live around here? Somewhere?”

“No,” Castiel said quietly.

When he didn’t say anything else, Dean said, “Cas is just out of the military. He doesn’t have a permanent home base yet.”

“Hey, man,” Kylen said. “My sister’s overseas, so. Thanks.”

“My boyfriend,” Marita added. “Thanks.”

They all started thanking him then, everyone except Dean, for which Castiel was grateful. He wasn’t comfortable with the assumption that he’d fought in their wars, though he knew the misperception was his fault. They associated soldiers with their own military, and of course he expected that they would. He had served. It seemed a harmless enough cover.

Until they all started to act as though he’d done something for them, as though he’d helped them personally, when the only one he was here to help was Dean.

“All right,” Dean said, fingers restless on his guitar. “More singing. We used to pull off highway 249, had a cool little place where we’d go hide on a Friday night –” He didn’t wait for any of them to agree, or to sing along, and so somehow, inexplicably, they did.

“Get away from the city lights,” Claudia sang. She was the first to join in, but May and Kylen and Jake and a couple of the kids Castiel had just met echoed her almost immediately. “We’d find a little wood and build a fire.”

They all knew this song, apparently. He hadn’t heard it before, and he wondered if Dean wrote any of his own songs. He also wondered that all of the kids seemed so willing to follow Dean’s lead. “Somebody’d always bring a couple guitars, and we’d take turns singing songs and watching it burn...”

He appreciated the attention being turned away from him, but he didn’t know what purpose the singing served. Cathartic release, maybe. Community building. Distraction from their problems, a fun activity, a game to amuse them or something with a larger purpose?

“We’d do ‘Rambling Man,’ ‘Proud Mary,’ and ‘American Band,’” and at least half the voices stumbled over what he recognized after the fact as song titles. At least the first one. He was struck by the sudden urge to find the other two and listen to them all tonight. “We’d be singing at the top of our lungs...

“It was always the love songs, every time,” they sang, and if he’d thought most of them were singing before, now the girls were putting their arms around each other and a couple of the guys were laughing as they each tried to be louder than anyone else. Even the two kids who were lying on the floor looked they might be mouthing the words of the chorus. “Made everybody feel something inside –”

Then he realized Dean was looking at him, and he didn’t see anything else for several seconds. He’d never heard this song before, but he wanted to hear it again. Preferably from Dean. Alone. Looking at him exactly the way he was now.

Maybe closer. Dean could be sitting closer, and looking at him the way he was now, and this would be the best song Castiel had ever heard.

He didn’t know what to do with the fact that Dean didn’t seem to want to sleep with him. He’d expected that part to be easy, a natural continuation of the time they spent together. Not strictly necessary, but very convenient when it came to keeping an eye on someone.

And... he thought he might have looked forward to it more with Dean. It was always nice enough, warmth and intimacy reassuring him that he wasn’t alone in the world, no matter what it usually felt like. Perhaps there was no one quite like him, but weren’t they all unique? Sharing time and space with someone good enough to save was rarely a chore.

With Dean, though, he thought it might be more than not a chore. He didn’t want things the way other people did and he’d long since accepted that he couldn’t learn. But he thought he could want this, in his own way. He thought he already wanted to be close to Dean.

Closer.

Alison bumped his shoulder, and he didn’t know what startled him more: the fact that one of them was brave enough to touch him, or the fact that they cared to. They hadn’t shied away from him in church, but he’d been well aware that they had closed ranks around him because Dean had asked them to. Now, though, Alison seemed to be encouraging him to sing.

Since more of them sang the chorus than the rest of the song, he assumed it was acceptable for him to join in then as well. He did, quietly, but it made Alison beam at him and bump his shoulder again... and it made Dean raise his eyebrows with an expression that looked pleasantly surprised. So he kept singing, even when they started the chorus again – he sang well, and he knew that was often well-received.

“Nice, man,” Dean said, as he strummed the end of the song into nothing. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

“He sounds good,” May added.

Alison agreed. “You _are_ good,” she said. “Dean’s gonna try to get you to sing in church, now.”

Castiel met Dean’s gaze and got a tiny shake of his head in return. Interesting. So Dean had expected him to come Sunday, but didn’t expect him to participate. He hadn’t necessarily expected a pastor’s son to be familiar with the limits of other people’s faith, but perhaps that had been unfair.

Dean did run Teen Bitch, Castiel reminded himself. There was little that looked reverent about this group.

“Tell us one of your problems,” Marita said. “So we can make you an honorary Teen Bitch member.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure he wants that,” Chris said.

“Up to you,” Dean said, when Castiel glanced at him for direction. “That is what we’re here for.”

“You don’t want us to think we’re the only ones who have problems, right?” Claudia said.

“No one has to share anything they don’t want to,” Dean said. “No pressure.”

Castiel let his lips curve a little. “You’re just afraid that my problems will embarrass you,” he said. “As right now, they mostly revolve around you.”

“Me!” Dean gave him an indignant look. “I’ve caused _you_ problems?”

“Tell!” May said.

“Share!” Alison exclaimed at the same time. “Is it his dad?”

“Is it his mom?” May added, giggling a little when Alison smirked at her.

“Is it the roof?” Kylen asked. Shrewdly, Castiel thought. “It’s almost done, right?”

“It’s almost done,” Castiel agreed. “However, Dean’s father has invited me to remain in town during the holidays.”

This prompted a chorus of “ooh”s and laughter and a particularly sharp look from Dean. “Really?” Dean said. “He said he asked you to dinner and you said no. I figured –” He paused, eyes flicking over the group. “Must have been some conversation,” he finished.

“He was actually very polite,” Castiel said.

“Been there,” Kylen said. “He can make you do stuff with his politeness. It’s tricky.”

“Getting you to agree to community service wasn’t tricky,” Dean put in. “You knew what you were signing up for.”

“Yeah, time with Alison,” Chris muttered. His voice sounded as though he meant it to carry, but his body language suggested that he was talking to himself. Giving the snickering among the boys, Castiel assumed it was intentional.

“We’re talking about this later,” Dean told Castiel. He, too, was loud enough for everyone to hear.

“So is your problem Dean’s dad?” Marita wanted to know.

“My problem is that I’m lonely,” Castiel replied, “and Dean is too good and too willing to make that problem go away.”

This revelation was met by silence from the group, and he understood then that there was a level of honesty they didn’t expect. Even from each other. He didn’t bother to take it back: Dean already knew, and Dean knew, too, that he said things others might not. Since Dean’s was the only good opinion he was concerned with, he thought the teens’ surprise was largely irrelevant.

“You miss home?” Dean asked after a moment. His voice was perhaps a little rougher than usual, and Castiel thought Dean had heard what he was saying: the longer he was here, the harder the idea of leaving felt.

“I miss my brothers,” he said honestly. “I miss having a purpose. I miss knowing what I’m fighting for, and the sense of certainty that comes from following orders.

“Also,” he added, after a brief reflection. “I miss home. But I think I can live without that part of it.”

He suspected the implication that he couldn’t live without the rest of it wasn’t lost on Dean.

“Do you think you can find a new home?” May asked quietly.

No. It was what he wanted to say, what he suspected would be true for the rest of his existence.

But it wasn’t what any of them wanted to hear.

He looked at Dean, ready to say “yes” when he saw something in that expression. Something that reminded him of Dean at dinner the other night: _if you can’t give me the truth, I don’t really want to hear it._

“I don’t know,” he murmured. He had sometimes wished it could be different, but this was as close as he’d ever gotten to building a new life. “I don’t think so.”

“You could have a purpose,” Kylen said, just as Claudia went to speak.

“You can have a family again,” she said. “Everyone deserves a family. That’s what we are here.”

“The TB family,” Dean agreed, a little awkward as he cleared his throat, but somehow endearingly so. “Yeah, we’re cool like that.”

“Now that you’ve told us your problems,” May said, “you’re already one of us.”

“We don’t tell anyone,” Alison added. “Even Chris.”

“Hey!” Chris objected. “I don’t tell people what we talk about!”

“Except Claudia,” Alison said.

“She’s part of the group!” Chris protested. “Obviously we talk about it. But not where anyone can hear; come on.”

They bickered until nine. Dean interjected from time to time, but mostly he picked at his guitar and watched Castiel. Castiel had to admit that he enjoyed the attention. The kids spoke to him but didn’t seem to expect him to reply. When he did, they laughed or kept talking or made Dean smile – sometimes all three. And when Dean asked him something, it was almost better than private conversation: because it was something of himself and Castiel that he didn’t mind sharing with everyone else in the room.

When the clock read nine, though, the kids were good about getting up and putting their chairs away and finding each other’s coats. Everyone moved around each other in a way that Castiel wouldn’t have thought was organized, except that it only took five minutes to empty the room. A few stragglers lingered in the entryway, lacing shoes or pulling on gloves, but Dean was turning off the space heater and the lights at 9:05. When he and Castiel walked through the entryway a few minutes later, the last of the kids were on their way out.

The parking lot wasn’t as empty. Several of the kids were talking to each other over the hoods of cars, but none of them looked like they were settling in for an extended conversation. Dean yelled “good night” at them but didn’t order any of them to leave or go home before he walked Castiel to his car.

“Can we talk?” Dean said quietly, angling his body away from the kids while he waited for Castiel to unlock his door. “Not here, sets a bad example. Maybe, uh...”

He seemed stuck, so Castiel asked, “Is there anything in town still open after nine?”

It made Dean smile. “No,” he said. “There’s a couple of places nearby, but I guess I was thinking we could go back to my place? I don’t know if you’re okay with that; I’m not, like, inviting you over for the night or anything...”

“Dean,” Castiel said. “I don’t assume. You don’t have to tell me what you’re not doing.”

This didn’t seem to reassure Dean. “It’s just, Sam’s with Jess tonight, so it’s only us, and I have no idea what my dad told you – it must have been something pretty ridiculous. He can come on kind of strong, so I’m sorry about that. If I’d known he was gonna talk to you today I’d have tried to, I dunno, warn you or something.”

“Warn me about what?” Castiel wanted to know. He saw Claudia and Chris pretending not to stare at them as they definitely did not get into their car, so he added, “Is this the conversation you were hoping to have elsewhere?”

Dean took a deep breath, like he was just remembering he should. “Yeah,” he said, putting a hand on the roof of Castiel’s car. “Uh. So, you’re okay with my place?”

“Yes,” Castiel said, wondering if a smile would be misinterpreted. “Dean,” he added, because he didn’t know what else to say in the face of Dean’s obvious discomfort, “There’s nothing wrong. Everything is still as it should be.”

“Yeah,” Dean said with a sigh. “Okay. I don’t really know what that means, but that’s not your fault.” He smiled again, but it was less convincing this time. “See you back home?”

“Yes,” Castiel repeated. Impulsively, he reached out and laid his hand on Dean’s cheek. “Please don’t worry. You have a lovely singing voice, and I very much enjoyed Teen Bitch.”

For some reason, this made Dean laugh out loud. He relaxed, and that had been the goal, so Castiel counted it a win. He didn’t try to kiss Dean, because apparently the children were keeping score, as it were. But he did smile, and Dean squeezed his shoulder before he got into his car.

They weren’t the last ones out of the parking lot. Everyone was at least in cars by the time Dean pulled out behind him, though. He thought, as he turned down the road, that perhaps it wasn’t typical for the person he was visiting to be following him, rather than leading the way, but it wasn’t as though he would get lost.

Sam’s car was indeed missing from the driveway when they pulled in. Castiel took his spot, since it sounded as though he would be leaving before Sam returned, and Dean didn’t correct him when he got out of his car. The air was just as icy and foreboding here, but somehow it didn’t seem so quiet with Dean beside him. Even when he didn’t speak.

“Thank you for letting me join your group this evening,” Castiel offered, when Dean went to let them in. “It was very welcoming.”

“Yeah, sorry they’re so nosy,” Dean said. “They like to know everything about everyone, you know? There’s only so many people in town.”

Castiel smiled at Dean’s unthinking apology. “I was completely serious in my thanks,” he said.

“And I’m completely serious in apologizing,” Dean said, but his return smile indicated that this might no longer be true. “We’re like that, you know? Everyone pays too much attention to everyone else. I can’t even get mad about it, because I do it to all of them too.”

“It seems to work,” Castiel offered.

This made Dean’s smile dim a little. “Yeah,” he said. “For some things more than others, I guess.”

Castiel waited until he’d turned on the lights and closed the door behind them to ask, “I’m really the only person you’ve dated in four years?”

Dean paused with his hand in his pocket. “Do you know it’s been four years since seminary,” he said, “or was that just a good guess?”

Castiel couldn’t interpret his tone, but he thought that might have been a mistake. Of course Dean had no idea how much research Castiel had done on him outside of the time they spent together. “It’s a logical number, given your age,” he said.

Dean glanced at him, an odd look on his face. “Just out of curiosity... who told you how old I am?”

Dean had asked for the truth. He hadn’t asked for it casually, or even specifically – he’d had his desire for it dragged out of him. Like he was accustomed to it being a dealbreaker, to the point where he didn’t bother anymore. With anything: not even the deals, let alone the breaking of them.

Dean did a good impression of someone who’d been hurt, Castiel thought. Especially for a man who had nothing in his past that would suggest such a profile.

“I... wanted to know more about you than seemed appropriate to ask,” Castiel said carefully. “I apologize if that makes me sound... too involved.”

Dean was quiet for a long moment. “You’re going for a little crazy,” he said at last. “Right? Because you’re there. You’re right there.”

He sounded wary, which was exactly what Castiel had hoped to avoid. It was what he always hoped to avoid, but somehow it seemed worse coming from Dean. Probably because Dean did pride himself on the appearance of rebellion – it was entirely likely that he could decide this was too much, too creepy, too _controlling_ , and throw Castiel out of his life right before he needed him most.

“And I’m guessing,” Castiel said, “that it wouldn’t take much to push me into a lot crazy.”

The corner of Dean’s mouth quirked. “I’m a little worried that you’re already there,” he admitted, “and I just don’t know it yet.”

He was worried that he didn’t see it yet, Castiel thought. That he wasn’t letting himself see it, because he was lonely too. It wasn’t the first time that he’d bonded with one of his causes over their shared solitude. It was the first time he’d worried that he’d let it go too far: Dean wasn’t what he’d expected, and he was still more sure than not that the man would recover completely once Castiel’s business was over and done... but he was less sure than he had been.

“Seventy percent,” he said aloud. Partly because it might distract Dean, and partly because he didn’t know what else to do with the number. It shouldn’t be falling. It definitely shouldn’t be falling so quickly.

“Seventy percent crazy?” Dean asked. “Or seventy percent sane?” He seemed amused by the question, so Castiel supposed that was a good sign.

“I’m seventy percent certain,” Castiel said, “that when this is over, you won’t hate me.”

“Oh?” Dean raised an eyebrow at him. They were still standing by the front door, wearing their coats and illuminated by a single overhead light. “And when will it be over?”

“After I save you,” Castiel told him.

“Okay,” Dean said. “That was kind of weirdly romantic last night, but tonight? It’s just creepy.”

Castiel swallowed, looking away in a sign of surrender. He’d seen it time and again, that Dean responded more forgivingly toward the weak than to the aggressive. “You asked for the truth,” he said quietly. “I didn’t expect that, and now I feel bound by your request. Normally I would lie.”

He heard Dean sigh, and then his coat rustled. “Okay,” he repeated. “That was harsh. I’m sorry. Look, I like you and I wanted to talk to you and maybe we could just, kind of... try this again? Can I take your coat?”

“Yes,” he said quickly. He tried not to be too eager in getting it off, but Dean wouldn’t ask him to leave without his coat. Anything he let Dean take from him was something Dean would have to give back, extending the time it would take him to go later. “Thank you.”

“Sure,” Dean said, but he stayed at arm’s length. He didn’t even let their fingers brush when Castiel handed off his coat, and that could have been a coincidence but Castiel knew it wasn’t. Dean was very smooth when it came to unobtrusive physical contact. If they had avoided it, then it had been avoided on purpose.

“Something to drink?” Dean added. He turned on lights by the couch on his way to the kitchen, calling, “Let me just turn the heat back up and get some lights. I was thinking coffee, but I dunno if you drink it this late? I think Sam’s got some tea, and we have hot chocolate somewhere. There’s cold drinks too, if you want.”

“Coffee is good,” Castiel said. “As long as you have something to make it sweet.” And not-coffee-tasting, he added silently. He didn’t like coffee, but if Dean was drinking it then he would have the same. He clearly had some ground to make up on the “weird stranger who freaks people out” front.

Dean was eyeing him from the direction of the sink. He had one hand on the faucet while the other held coffeepot, but he wasn’t actually filling it yet. “Didn’t you say you don’t like coffee? Saturday morning? I totally forgot – I’m –” He paused again.

He would apologize, Castiel thought, except that now he wasn’t sure if Castiel had even meant it.

“I don’t like the taste of coffee,” he said. “I like it when it’s sweetened.”

“A lot,” Dean said. “Right? Like, milk and chocolate and flavoring and stuff?”

“Yes,” Castiel said, because they had talked about this but he hadn’t expected Dean to remember. He was the one charged with retaining information. Dean was just a man: just someone who had work to do, and Castiel wasn’t part of it.

Yet he remembered.

“Right,” Dean said, and maybe that had been enough, because he went back to setting up the coffee maker. “So.” Castiel wasn’t sure what was coming next, but he didn’t expect Dean to say, “My dad.”

He didn’t say anything, but when Dean added, “He said he saw you at the church this afternoon,” he realized some response was expected.

“Indeed,” he said. “He... expressed gratitude for my work on the roof?”

Dean gave him a look like he expected there to be more.

“He also indicated that...” Castiel frowned, not sure whether this would be what Dean wanted to hear. “That I would be welcome to remain in the area during the holiday season?”

Dean brought his fist down on the counter. It made a quiet sound, as though he hadn’t hit it all that hard. His grunt sounded like exasperation rather than pain. “Look, I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “He’s not trying to – he’s just – I don’t even know what he’s doing, but ignore it, okay? It doesn’t matter.”

“It clearly matters,” Castiel said, fascinated by Dean’s response. “He said that any friend of yours is a friend of his. Do you find this to be true?”

“Yes,” Dean said, surprising him. “Way too true. He has no idea how to mind his own business. I’m surprised it took him this long to talk to you; I should have warned you before.”

“Warned me of what?” Castiel asked again. “Dean, your father did nothing wrong. I wasn’t offended by anything he said; it was perfectly reasonable. Even gracious.”

“You didn’t come to dinner!” Dean exclaimed. “He obviously said _something_. Is it because you’re not planning to stick around? He knows that; he’s just trying to... I dunno. Make it normal or something. He’s kind of disappointed that both his sons are freaks with a less than even chance of passing on the family name, you know? But he’ll get over it; I don’t care –”

“Dean.” Castiel didn’t know how to stop him. “There’s nothing I’d like more than to celebrate the holidays with you and your family.”

“But not after that, right?” Dean just kept going, switching tracks faster than Castiel even saw it coming. He was still trying to catch up with Dean’s first concern. “That’s fine. Don’t think he’s trying to guilt you into it or, like, suck you into the family or anything. We don’t expect anything.”

“Dean,” Castiel insisted. “ _Dean._ Please stop talking.”

Dean closed his mouth, but it was clearly an effort.

“I’m confused,” Castiel said carefully. “You seem upset that your father may have misrepresented your intentions toward me, but I assure you, that is not the case. I don’t assume that he speaks for you, and I would never take something someone else said as representative of your feelings.

“You also seem very concerned that I might think you expect something from me, which it’s obvious that you do: you expect me to leave. At any moment, apparently. Haven’t I told you that I have no intention of leaving without letting you know in advance?”

Dean just stared at him, and Castiel added, “You may resume discussion of this matter at any time.”

A smile graced Dean’s expression, and Castiel tried not to relax. He needed to be ready to disarm Dean, and he needed to stay ready, since past experience showed that smiling or even laughing did not indicate either comfort or predictability. Not in Dean.

“Okay,” Dean said. “Dad didn’t scare you off. So why didn’t you come to dinner?”

“If you had invited me,” Castiel said, “I would have. I didn’t realize you were expecting me.”

Dean didn’t seem to know what to do with that. “I – I saw Dad before I could... huh.

“Yeah,” he continued awkwardly, “I guess that was kind of weird. He said you weren’t coming, so I guess I figured –”

“You spent the entire evening worrying that he had scared me off?” There was no reason for Castiel to feel guilty about that. He hadn’t done anything, and Dean could have simply asked him if he was worried. Yet he found that the revelation did cause him some discomfort.

“Not the whole evening,” Dean said defensively. Then he paused, glancing at the coffee as it dripped into the pot, and he added, “Sarah was weird tonight, and I might have been kind of distracted, which Sam usually thinks is his fault. My dad might, in retrospect, have taken responsibility for some of it even though it turns out he didn’t really do anything. So basically, Jeannie had a bad night thanks to all of us and now we’re all mad at each other.

“But yeah,” he concluded. “I wouldn’t say _worrying_ , exactly.” The rueful grin he offered Castiel said that he meant exactly the opposite.

“I also spent the evening worrying about you,” Castiel offered. “If it’s any comfort.”

“Yeah?” Dean was getting coffee mugs out, perhaps thinking he’d said too much, as he often claimed. “I’m not sure that is comforting, actually, but you’re right.” Catching Castiel’s eye over his shoulder, he gave a small shrug. “I asked for the truth.”

“It’s not once and for always,” Castiel said, even though he thought it should be. “You can take it back, if you like.”

“No,” Dean said sharply. The mugs clinked as he pushed them to one side. “People say stupid stuff to me all the time, Cas. Like they think I’m clueless, like I have no idea what they’re talking about. Don’t be one of them.”

“I’m not crazy,” Castiel said. “Not even a little.”

Dean turned back to him. “That’s the secret,” he said. “Right? That’s the truth you think I can’t handle.”

Castiel watched him carefully. “I think you can handle it,” he said. “I don’t think you should have to.”

Dean smiled, but it wasn’t happy or humorous. “I tell everyone who bitches to me about God that they should be grateful they don’t get what they deserve,” he said bluntly. “Imagine how much life would suck if everything that happened to us happened because we deserved it, right?”

With another tiny shrug, he added, “I usually put it more gently than that.”

It was Castiel’s turn to stare, but he sensed that Dean needed some sort of reply. Immediately. “Do you believe in God, Dean?”

That probably hadn’t been it.

Dean didn’t look offended, though. He just raised an eyebrow and asked, “Does it matter?”

Castiel blinked. “It does to me,” he said.

“I don’t know,” Dean said. “I guess that’s my secret. But it doesn’t really matter, right? It’s not like I’d do anything differently if I was sure. One way or the other. People need help, I help them. We all try to do the right thing, and maybe something humans wrote down thousands of years ago can’t tell us what the right thing is, but talking about it can. So we talk about it.”

“Would you feel different?” Castiel insisted. He wasn’t sure why it was so important for him to know. “You said you wouldn’t act differently, but would you feel different? If you knew?”

Dean frowned, and the answer he came up with wasn’t what Castiel had expected. “Probably not,” he said. “No one else does. They get what they want, they feel exactly the same as they did before. Happy people are happy, angry people are angry, and the rest of us just do the best we can.”

“Is it something you want?” Castiel asked. “To know?”

“Why?” Dean countered, folding his arms. “Can you tell me?”

Castiel felt his expression twist, knew Dean saw it, wondered what Dean made of it. “That depends,” he said. “On whether belief in something means it cares about you or not.”

Dean didn’t move, and Castiel knew beyond the faintest hint of uncertainty that Dean had understood. He knew too that it hurt, that it was like something shoved into his midsection, pushing him to fold. What he didn’t know was whether that was Dean’s pain, or his own.

“We’re the ones who are here, Cas,” Dean said. His voice was calm and steady. “We’re the ones who have to care.”

“We didn’t ask to be here,” Castiel said. “We didn’t ask for any of this. Why should we have to care if the person who put us here doesn’t?”

“We don’t,” Dean said. “But why wouldn’t we?”

He heard a sound, a sound that he only realized in retrospect was his. He’d choked on his reply, or he’d – he didn’t have a reply. He hadn’t been planning to say anything. He had no idea what to say, what to do, how to answer that most basic of questions. _Why wouldn’t we?_

“Hey,” Dean said gently, and he was unfolding his arms and coming closer, too close, too soon, he touched Castiel’s arm and nothing in the world made sense.

The windows rattled. The lightbulb over the sink blew out with a frazzled pop, and a chair at the table went over backwards as Castiel tried to jerk away from Dean. The hand on his arm fell away and he stood, frozen, staring at Dean while Dean stared back.

“Hey,” Dean said again. No less gently than he had before. “Can I turn on another light, or will you disappear as soon as I look away?”

He swallowed. “I won’t disappear.”

Dean took a step back, fumbling for the light over the stove without turning around. He got it, turning his own figure into a silhouette with the glow from behind. The light from the direction of the couch barely reached him, weak contrast between shadow and not where Castiel interrupted its journey.

“Look,” Dean said quietly. “I care. You obviously care, or you wouldn’t be here. Why do we need anyone else?”

Castiel had no idea what Dean thought he was doing, but he didn’t understand how he could ask that question. “What purpose does our caring serve if we’re alone in the universe?”

“We’re not alone,” Dean said. “We have each other. That’s the whole point of communities: so we can care about each other and have people care about us. So what if there’s no invisible puppet master writing our scripts and patting us on the head when we get our parts right? Isn’t it more important that _we_ think we did a good job than some random eye in the sky?”

“What if we don’t think we’re doing a good job?” Castiel whispered.

“Well, that’s the only reason we’d need divine forgiveness, isn’t it.” Dean still hadn’t looked away from him. “If our own forgiveness isn’t enough.”

“What if divine forgiveness is the only forgiveness available?” He only asked because Dean kept answering. He didn’t expect a revelation. But he needed one. He’d needed one for a long time.

Dean held his hands out to his sides – slowly, as though he thought he might spook Castiel. “Mine’s available,” he said simply. “Some people think that’s enough.”

“I can’t ask that of you.” If Dean would even give it, which was hardly a guarantee. “I shouldn’t _have_ to ask that of you; it isn’t your responsibility.”

“Because you don’t have faith in me?” Dean asked.

Castiel froze.

“Because it sounds to me,” Dean said evenly, “like you still have faith in God, even though you’re trying to tell me that whoever God is doesn’t care even a tiny little bit about us. Or you. I’m guessing. I’m not totally sure I should include you in us, except that I want to, so. Us.”

Dean continued to study him, and when Castiel offered no correction, he added, “You don’t get mad at people you don’t believe in. If you don’t expect anything, they can’t let you down. So the fact that you’re so freaked right now makes me think you haven’t really given up.”

Castiel couldn’t answer. He had nothing to say. He had too much to say, but none of it was anything Dean could help him with. Nothing Dean should have to bear.

“I care,” Dean repeated. “You keep saying you’re here to... to help me, so I’m pretty sure you care too. I don’t want you to give up, and I don’t think you’d want me to give up, so that’s something, right? Even if all the rest of it’s a write-off?”

Dean needed him to say something, he thought.

“Aren’t you afraid?” he blurted out. “Why aren’t you afraid?”

It was hard to read Dean’s expression with the stove light behind him, but his tone sounded genuinely puzzled. “Afraid of what?”

Of me, he wanted to say. “Of the truth. Of what it means.”

He could hear the smile in Dean’s voice when he said, “Cas, I’ve been in religion for a long time. And the only thing I know for sure about any of it, after all this time, is that the truth means whatever we think it means.”

He shouldn’t ask. He couldn’t put all this on Dean. He couldn’t stand to be disappointed, and that alone should be enough to make him keep his mouth shut. “What do you think it means?” he asked.

If he did what he should do, then he wouldn’t be where he was right now.

“I think,” Dean said, “it means some coffee would do you a lot of good.

“I wanted to say a good lay,” he added, “except pastors aren’t supposed to say that, and also, I thought it might sound a little rude coming from someone you’re dating. If you were one of the kids, I would have gone with a good hug, but since you just went all poltergeist on me I figured it was better not to startle you.”

Suddenly he was standing in a dimly lit kitchen with a man – just a man – not the face of faith, not a voice from above. This was Dean. The person he had come to save, so that he might continue to offer the people of his town coffee and hugs and the forgiveness they couldn’t find anywhere else.

“I’d take a good lay,” he muttered, and it was an admission that did no one any good. “If it meant I could stay close to you.”

“Vaguely creepy territory,” Dean told him.

“You like it,” Castiel whispered, and this time it was Dean’s turn to go still.

To go very still. Carefully, aggressively still. “Exactly how much do you know about me, Castiel?”

“To tell you exactly,” Castiel replied, “would require more time than we have before you find yourself in peril. Suffice it to say, I know more about you than anyone else with the possible exception of yourself.”

Dean didn’t move, but his eyes narrowed. The words that came out were entirely unexpected. “This is what calms you down? Threatening me? That’s kind of weird.”

Just like that, he was adrift again. Dean was nothing that he knew, and all he could manage was, “I didn’t mean to threaten you.”

“Uh-huh.” Dean didn’t look convinced. “Well, whatever floats your boat, I guess. I don’t really want you wound up if it means you’re gonna start destroying my furniture, so. Lay it on me.”

He stared at Dean. “Are you... trying to help me?”

Dean actually laughed, like it was the most absurdly delightful thing he’d ever heard, and Castiel almost took a step closer to him. “Yes, Cas,” he said, and he sounded equal parts fond and impatient and unfathomable. “I am trying. To help you. In whatever way I can.”

“Because it’s your job,” Castiel said. Dean was nothing if not persistent, and his conviction was enough to sway even angels. It was an almost inhuman ability.

“Because I _like_ you, you crazy person,” Dean said. “Do you want some coffee, or not?”

He wasn’t waiting for an answer, although Castiel noticed that Dean didn’t turn his back on him. He was dumping something that wasn’t coffee into one of the mugs, glancing sideways every second or so, and he smiled when he reached for the coffee pot. “Gonna take that as yes, though you’re free to change your mind. There’s milk in the fridge; you want to get that?”

Castiel did, because that was what had been asked of him.

“Thanks,” Dean said, when he set it carefully on the counter. “Here, sugar. Add your own; this one’s yours. I’m gonna turn on some more lights.”

Dean gave him the mug he’d poured something else into, passing over a spoon with his other hand. Castiel took it without asking. Nothing Dean gave him could hurt him, after all.

When the kitchen was better lit, Dean came over a dropped a bag on the counter beside the milk. “Marshmallows,” he said, as Castiel stirred in sugar and whatever had collected at the bottom of his coffee. “They melt faster if you put them in before the milk, but Sam says the whole point is to fish them out, so he likes to add them after.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said quietly. He had never heard of putting marshmallows in coffee, and somehow the idea that Dean would share such a thing with him seemed as significant as anything he might have said. “I appreciate this.”

“Well, you’re welcome,” Dean said. “Also, I called you a crazy person because you act like one, not ’cause I didn’t believe you when you said you weren’t. Just so you know.”

“I know,” Castiel murmured.

Dean dumped a handful of marshmallows into his coffee and stirred them vigorously. “Do you? So you know new stuff about me too? Like, you’re learning about me by being around me – in a normal way, or in a reading my mind kind of way?”

“I’m not reading your mind,” Castiel told his coffee. He debated internally over whether to add marshmallows the way Dean did, or the way Dean had told him Sam did. Either seemed potentially “creepy,” as though it might backfire if he tried to choose the one that would put Dean more at ease, so he gave up and just put them in.

“So you’re just, like, profiling me?” Dean asked. “Figuring out what I’ll do based on what I’ve already done and what you know?”

Castiel reached for the milk and found that Dean had gotten there first. Dean only poured in a tiny amount before handing it over. “If it helps,” Castiel said, “it’s not really working.”

Dean was pushing his marshmallows under the surface of the coffee now, dunking them repeatedly while he watched Castiel fill his mug the rest of the way with milk. “What do you mean, it’s not working?”

“I mean you keep doing things I don’t expect,” Castiel said. “It’s very disconcerting.”

That made Dean smile, and he took the milk carefully and closed the carton. “Glad I can shake up your routine,” he said, taking it back over to the fridge. “You hungry? You did get dinner, right?”

“No,” Castiel said, startled into further honesty. “I don’t have to eat.”

The sound of the milk carton thunking back down on the shelf was loud in the quiet kitchen. The refrigerator door rattled when Dean closed it. Castiel didn’t look, so he didn’t know if it was because Dean’s hands shook or because he was frustrated. Given how calm Dean had been facing off against him earlier, he would guess the latter.

“You mean, you’re used to not eating?” Dean asked. His tone was measured. “Or you mean, literally, you don’t need food to survive?”

“I require sustenance,” Castiel said. He shouldn’t have said that. It would only make him easier to track once he was gone.

“Don’t get all mysterious on me now,” Dean said. It was difficult to tell whether he was joking or not; his tone hadn’t changed. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, but don’t tell me half-truths. The whole truth or nothing, okay?”

“Nothing,” Castiel said with a sigh. Because it had to be.

“Fine.” Dean stood a step behind him, and in the darkened reflection of the window, Castiel saw a hand reaching for him. It hesitated but didn’t fall, and a moment later it landed on his shoulder. “You want to go sit down?”

“I don’t need human nutrition,” Castiel blurted out. “I don’t need to eat. I’ve cultivated the habit in order to blend in and gain the trust of people like you. I often enjoy it, but I don’t need to do it, and I shouldn’t be telling you this, because it may endanger you in the future.”

“Well, hey.” Dean’s tone sounded lighter all of a sudden. “You save my life now, I figure you’re allowed to endanger it later, right?”

“No,” Castiel said forcefully. “Your life is not mine. It’s never mine.”

“Joking,” Dean said. “Just joking, Cas.”

He closed his eyes so he wouldn’t see Dean’s reflection. “There have been others, before you,” he muttered. “They also joked, but I’m afraid that some of them may have come to believe it.”

“So you left,” Dean said. “Because they got too attached.”

“No,” Castiel said, opening his eyes again. He couldn’t avoid Dean’s gaze, even in the window. “I left because there was no reason for me to stay. It had nothing to do with them.”

Dean’s hand still rested on his shoulder. “Does this have anything to do with me?” he asked softly.

Castiel considered Dean’s presence for a long moment. He considered all of it: Dean’s acceptance, his unpredictability, the demands he didn’t make. “I’d say that seventy percent was probably an overly generous estimate,” he said with a sigh. “It’s probably an even chance, at this point.”

“Fifty fifty,” Dean murmured. “So, no. It’s not about me.”

“It’s all about you,” Castiel admitted. “I’ve never worried about anyone else after I left them. With you I’m not even gone yet, and already I fear your reaction.”

“Thanks,” Dean said.

Finding his reflection unreadable, Castiel turned around to study his face.

The corner of Dean’s mouth quirked, and he looked rueful as he admitted, “Makes a man feel important, you know? It’s nice to think it matters that I’ll miss you.”

“It matters,” Castiel said quietly.

Dean didn’t look away. “You said.”

“It will be safer for you,” Castiel murmured, “if you don’t tell anyone...” He hesitated. Castiel’s intent, Dean’s salvation. Too many anomalies revealed along the way. “Everything you know about me.”

“You keep it a secret,” Dean said. “That’s good enough for me.”

“Don’t you want to know why?” Castiel asked, searching his expression. They always asked why. How first, then why. Dean seemed unconcerned with how, but it was difficult to comprehend that a man like Dean might not be interested in why.

“Because you want to,” Dean said. “Because it gives you a purpose. Because you think you have nothing to believe in, and you’re trying to keep other people from feeling the same way.” He paused, then asked, “Am I close?”

“You are –” Castiel couldn’t finish. He didn’t know how he’d started. “You are,” he repeated weakly.

“Okay,” Dean said. “Then let’s go sit on the couch and drink coffee and watch TV. Because there’s just so much soul-baring anyone can do in one night, and you kind of look like you’ve hit your limit.

“If I’m wrong,” he added, “you can talk over the TV. Sometimes it’s easier to say stuff when it’s noisy.”

They were in front of the TV, Dean rooting out a remote and coasters and waving for Castiel to sit wherever he wanted when suddenly he said, “If you don’t want coffee, you don’t have to drink it, you know. You don’t have to pretend or anything.”

Castiel considered his coffee, automatically estimated its temperature compatibility with a human’s taste buds, and deemed it cool enough to sample. He took a sip before lifting his gaze to Dean in surprise. “It’s chocolate.”

“Cocoa, yeah,” Dean said. “I put a packet in with the coffee. Sorry, is that cool? I thought you saw me do it.”

He had. He just hadn’t understood what it meant. “Thank you,” he said, genuinely grateful. “It’s very good.”

“Is it?” Dean asked, eyeing him.

“Yes,” he said. “I told you, I do enjoy eating and drinking. I just don’t have to do it.”

“You also told me you don’t like coffee,” Dean reminded him.

“I don’t know what this is,” Castiel said, smiling at his mug, “but it’s not coffee.” He took another sip, and looked up to find Dean watching him with a pleased expression.

“Uh, good,” Dean said, clearing his throat. He pointed the remote at the television and turned it on, putting his own mug on the trunk in front of the couch before he sat down. “Do you hate politics? Or Jon Stewart? Or stupid jokes?”

“Occasionally,” Castiel said. “Less often than not.”

Dean gave him an odd look, but he seemed to take that as agreement. Castiel sat down carefully on the other side of the couch, not ready to yield his mug just yet. The taste of chocolate and milk and melted marshmallow was strangely reassuring. He was willing to admit that it was perhaps more so because it had been made for him.

They sat in silence – even through the commercials, which Castiel knew it was more acceptable to interrupt – until the program concluded and another began. Even then, he felt Dean glance at him, but there was no comment. His coffee was mostly gone, though a layer of chocolate remained at the bottom of the mug. He still hadn’t set it down.

This time, when a commercial came, Dean picked up the remote and muted the sound from the television. “Hey,” he said, his voice rough but not overly loud in the sudden silence. “I gotta get some sleep eventually. How are you doing?”

“I’m fine,” Castiel said. He didn’t move, though he knew it was expected.

“Is that true?” Dean prodded. He was sitting up, straighter on the couch now, but not making a move to stand. “I’m not kicking you out. I just want to know if there’s anything I can do.”

Castiel looked over at him. Dean’s short hair was mussed and his t-shirt askew under long sleeves that he’d buttoned wrong sometime between sitting down and now. He looked, to Castiel’s practiced eye, quite tired.

“You can stay,” Dean said quietly. “I mean, if that helps. I can get you a pillow and some blankets if you want to crash on the couch. Sam won’t be home until tomorrow night. I could even make up his bed if you –”

Dean broke off, and Castiel knew exactly what had just occurred to him.

“Do you sleep?” Dean asked bluntly. He wasn’t keeping his questions to himself because he didn’t want to be rude, that much was clear. When he felt they were relevant, he asked them.

“I can,” Castiel said. “I don’t have to.”

“Huh,” Dean said. He considered this for a moment, still studying Castiel. “Well. You look like you could use it, so maybe you should try.”

“I will,” Castiel said. And he would, now, because he had said so. “The couch is fine. If you don’t mind. I’ll try not to be creepy about it.”

That made Dean smile. “Just don’t let me catch you watching me sleep,” he said. “Let me go get you some stuff. You want the TV on?”

“Yes,” Castiel said, because he didn’t know but it seemed like a choice he could make. “Thank you.”

“You know how to use the remote?” Dean asked, shuffling across the couch toward him. “Sam got us some monster a couple months ago. It’s supposed to do everything, but so far I’ve only figured out five buttons: power, channel, and volume. If you avoid anything with a picture on it, I think you’ll be okay.”

“I’ll try not to break it,” Castiel murmured. He was only half-joking.

“Okay.” Dean offered him the remote. “Be right back.”

Dean’s hand brushed over his hair as he stood up, gentle and fleeting and more than enough to make him wish Dean was staying here on the couch. Beside him. All night. All the next day if necessary, and then another, and another, until the danger he hadn’t yet been able to discern had passed.

It was coming. It was much closer now than it had been last week, but he didn’t think it would happen tomorrow. That didn’t stop him from wanting to keep Dean where he could see him. He couldn’t look too closely at why.

When he heard Dean’s footsteps returning, he realized the show they’d started to watch was back on. “Mute” hadn’t been one of the buttons Dean indicated, but pushing the volume-up button seemed to turn it off. He got up when Dean came around the couch, arms full of pillows and blankets and even sheets.

“Might as well be comfortable,” Dean said, shrugging him aside. “Especially if you can’t get to sleep. Help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge, food, drinks, wifi, whatever. My laptop’s upstairs; you want me to bring it down?”

He opened his mouth, intending to say no, but what came out was, “Do you have an iPod?”

“Uh, yeah.” Dean didn’t seem to find the request objectionable, though it clearly wasn’t what he’d expected. “I’ll get it in a second; hang on.”

After the couch had been “made up” to Dean’s satisfaction, he disappeared upstairs again and Castiel was struck by the urge to follow him. He almost obeyed, used to the instinct as he was, except that he _knew_ Dean wasn’t in danger. That was a distinct feeling, the ache of an approaching storm, and this was...

This was something he didn’t know. He couldn’t define it any further, so he put it aside until Dean returned and the feeling flared stronger than before. The feeling that whispered _closer_ until the couldn’t think of anything except holding onto this man he shouldn’t need.

“I know,” he blurted out, when Dean handed over his iPod. “I know that you’re not – that we aren’t –”

Dean was giving him a look, and it wasn’t getting any better the longer he spoke.

Castiel gave up. “Thank you for letting me stay,” he said quietly.

“Cas,” Dean said, and he wished he could get Dean to say that on his voice mail so that he could hear it over and over. Perhaps if he asked Dean to call him and then pretended not to have his phone with him after all. Except that would be deception, wouldn’t it? It wouldn’t be the truth Dean had asked for.

Then Dean was kissing him, and he felt like he’d missed something but it was nothing he cared about right now. Dean’s hand was in his hair and Castiel reached for his face, wanting whatever connection he could get. He could feel Dean’s other hand on his waist and he wanted to step in. He wanted to step in so much that he didn’t know if he could keep doing this without wrapping his arms around Dean and holding onto him with everything he had.

Then Dean pulled away, hand still on his hip and the other on the back of his neck, his forehead resting against Castiel’s. “Cas,” he repeated, except that this time his voice was little more than a whisper. “You said you’d take a good lay, and man, you don’t know how much I wish I could give it to you.”

Castiel shook his head, Dean’s skin warm against his as he moved. He meant to deny it, to excuse it, to apologize or do something, anything that would keep Dean where he was instead of getting farther away. He would encourage it if he thought it would work.

“Wait,” Dean whispered. “Just wait: this is my confession, okay? I want you. I shouldn’t, I barely know you, it’s stupid and superficial and after everything you’ve told me, probably more than a little dangerous. But I like you, and I want to protect you, and when you ask for something I want to give it to you.

“That’s why I can’t do this,” he continued. “I’m more than capable of bad decisions, just ask my dad. But I can’t fall into bed with you because you said you’d take it to be close to me. You shouldn’t have to do one to get the other, Cas. You can have me without having sex with me.”

There was a moment when Castiel wondered what he was saying, if Dean would stay with him after all... if he could just curl up against Dean and close his eyes, maybe the world wouldn’t seem so unforgiving. Just for a little while. He didn’t know why he thought he could find that peace with Dean, but the desire to try was undeniable.

“I just wish I could do the same,” Dean murmured. He pressed a kiss to Castiel’s cheek then and straightened up, and it felt like saying goodbye. A word that normally didn’t bother him as much as this did, so perhaps it was a poor comparison. “I gotta sleep, but if there’s anything else I can do, let me know, okay?”

“I don’t mind,” Castiel blurted out. “I don’t, I just –” He just wanted – “I don’t want to be alone.”

“You and me both,” Dean said with a sigh.

“Now,” Castiel insisted. “Right now. I don’t want you to go upstairs and leave me here, I don’t want to – I don’t want to find my own reason to get through the night. I just want you.”

“Cas.” Dean groaned, taking another step back. “I can’t, okay? I won’t be able to sleep if you’re right next to me, because all I’ll be able to think about is – is you. Right next to me. I have to go to work in the morning and I can’t stay up all night not... not sleeping.”

Now Dean felt guilty on top of his already obvious exhaustion, and it was Castiel’s fault. His certainty that he could keep from permanently affecting Dean was now officially below fifty percent. He was afraid that Dean had permanently affected _him_.

“I understand,” he said, lowering his gaze. “I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have asked. Thank you for letting me stay.”

“Yeah,” Dean said after a moment. He sounded no less torn than he had before. “You’re not gonna, like, get into any trouble down here or anything, are you?”

He could only imagine what sort of trouble Dean expected. “History would seem to indicate not,” he said.

For some reason, this made Dean give him a sharp look. “Tell me that doesn’t mean that just because you’ve made it this long, you’ll probably make it another night.”

“The logic is passable,” Castiel said quietly. If not appealing.

“The logic sucks,” Dean said. “I’m gonna need you, right? Soon?”

“Yes,” Castiel said. Of that he had no doubt.

“And you have to be there to save me,” Dean insisted. “Sometime after tonight?”

“Dean.” He tried to be amused, but all he felt was tired. “I told you I wouldn’t disappear without telling you. Likewise, I will not do anything that I believe could jeopardize your safety. Not in the meantime, not during, not afterwards.”

“Not tonight,” Dean said quietly.

“No,” Castiel agreed, though the night already felt heavy and long. Like so many days and nights before it. “I’ll be here in the morning.”

“Okay,” Dean said. “Okay, so.” He took another step back. “Good night.”

Castiel clenched his fingers around the music device in his hand, but otherwise he didn’t move. “Good night.”

He stood there for a long time after Dean went upstairs. He heard Dean’s footsteps, heard the water run. The toilet flushed. He saw the upstairs light go out, and he could hear the creak of wood and springs as Dean got into bed. His bedroom door was open, Castiel thought.

The TV was still playing. The volume still as it had been before, but he had no idea what it was saying. He turned it off so Dean wouldn’t hear it from upstairs and have trouble sleeping. Of course it was logical that he would need to be well-rested and alert for the next day – Castiel wouldn’t want anything different.

Except for a Dean who was well-rested and alert because he had slept comfortably beside Castiel all night.

The drive to stay close wasn’t usually this strong until the situation was almost at hand. It made Castiel nervous, over and above what he was already feeling, because he remained sure that Dean was in no danger tonight or tomorrow. Yet he wanted to stay with him constantly, which was not an unfamiliar feeling. It was only, it seemed, an unfamiliar cause.

He finally looked down at the iPod in his hand. He’d crushed it, of course, when he closed his fingers. Running his thumb over it absently, he smoothed the device out and turned it on. Clicking the wheel to the default “top rated” playlist, he pressed play and let it run.

He didn’t bother sitting down. He’d promised Dean he would try to sleep at some point tonight, not every point. And sitting on the couch Dean had turned into a pseudo-bed would do nothing to make him feel better. He could already tell that and it was barely past midnight.

 **9 December**

He heard the vibration of his phone in his jacket pocket from some distance away. Or maybe it was more correct to say that he was aware of the vibration, since the sound it made didn’t travel through the coat, the hall closet door, and across the space in between to him with any degree of accuracy. He went unerringly to it anyway, removing the phone from his coat and glancing at the screen.

 _message from: Dean,_ the phone read.

Castiel glanced over at the stairs, but of course they remained empty.

 _cant sleep,_ the message said. _you ok?_

 _I’ve been better,_ Castiel texted back.

His phone buzzed again less than a minute later.

 _screw it,_ the screen said. _want to come up?_

He tossed his phone on the trunk and turned off the light by the couch. The only thing he took when he headed for the stairs was the iPod, now in his pocket, and the clothes that he would not take off unless Dean asked him to. That was what he told himself. If Dean was going to this much trouble to separate being together from sex, then the least Castiel could do was respect the distinction he made.

There was no light in Dean’s room. He didn’t need it to know that Dean was wrapped in both pajamas and blankets, turned toward the door, eyes open and his heart going faster than it should be. Castiel padded quietly over to the bed, and he heard Dean murmur, “Cas?”

“I could help you sleep,” Castiel whispered. “If you like.”

Dean hesitated. “If it’s not weird,” he whispered back. “And I gotta be up at six-thirty. Which is gonna be awkward, by the way, so. Sorry in advance.”

“Don’t apologize,” Castiel said softly. “Say ‘you’re welcome.’”

“On top of the covers,” Dean muttered. “Unless you get cold – do you get cold?”

“No,” Castiel said.

“Great,” Dean said, and Castiel could hear his breath puff out in a sigh. “So stay on top of the covers. Don’t touch me unless it’s part of your whole ‘helping me sleep’ plan. It’s already – it’s weird enough, okay?”

“Okay,” Castiel agreed. He did take note of what he was agreeing to, but nothing would have changed his mind. He climbed onto the covers on the other side of Dean’s bed, and almost immediately the clamoring insistence in his mind began to ease. As though he was somehow protecting Dean just by being here, when he knew no such protection was currently needed.

He laid down carefully, putting his head on the pillow and reaching instinctively for Dean. His fingers brushed the back of Dean’s shoulder, and some of the tension seemed to ease out of him. His fingers drifted across Dean’s neck, and that heartbeat started to slow. To something that more reasonably approached a sleeping state.

When his hand touched Dean’s hair, he felt Dean let out a sigh. “Is that your thing?” he mumbled, the words barely distinguishable past the hum of blood and breath and something so very human. “Why I’m relaxed now instead of totally turned on?”

“Yes,” Castiel murmured. “Is it acceptable?”

“Oh yeah,” Dean whispered. “S’great. Thanks.”

He could feel Dean slipping closer to sleep, and for the first time all day, he felt some kind of peace. It was a feeling so welcome that he didn’t dare disturb it with movement or music. No distractions. He just waited while Dean fell asleep, and then he waited longer for the peace to break.

It didn’t. It stayed with him, so he stayed with it: for an hour. For two. For as long as Dean slept, he didn’t move, content with everything he wasn’t feeling. No urgency, no dread... no loneliness.

The moment was perhaps a trick of the night, but during the night? He didn’t care.

He refused to care right up until Dean’s alarm went off, exactly at six-thirty, and Castiel gave more than one thought to silencing it. He didn’t want his fleeting and all too rare peace to end.

But it wasn’t only his, and he knew that. The entire night had been a gift from Dean, and Dean had specifically told him: _I gotta be up at six-thirty._ So Castiel squeezed his shoulder as soon as the radio turned on, hoping to remind him before he was fully awake that he wasn’t alone. Everything he knew about Dean said that he would appreciate the gesture.

Dean rolled into him, pushing up against the blanket barrier and burying his face under the covers. A sound that could have been anything was muffled by the layers between them. Castiel thought his most unassailable course of action was to not move, so he didn’t.

It only took a few seconds for the blankets to shift again. This time, Dean’s head emerged, squinting blearily at Castiel. “Cas,” he mumbled, and the name was recognizable even in his clearly sleep-fogged state. “You still here?”

Castiel tried not to smile, but it was difficult. “So it would seem.”

Dean grunted. The significance of the sound was unclear, but he closed his eyes again. Castiel wondered if it was his responsibility to ensure that Dean got out of bed. He thought not. Even if he was wrong, though, surely letting the alarm go off at all was as much as could reasonably be required of him.

It was several minutes into the morning radio show before Dean opened his eyes again. And again, they went first to Castiel. This time he turned his head to press his face into the pillow for a long moment. When he rolled onto his back, though, his “Good morning” was perfectly intelligible.

“Good morning,” Castiel replied.

He felt Dean looking at him, but he had enough experience in bed to know that turning his head would make the situation more intimate than Dean meant it to be. So he stared up at the ceiling and waited for Dean to comment.

Dean, as usual, managed to surprise him. “Get any sleep?” he murmured.

Castiel opened his mouth, but the truth was all he had. “No,” he admitted. “But being next to you was so peaceful that I found nothing lacking.”

“So creepy,” Dean muttered. He flung an arm over his face and sighed, like he’d already been up all day and he was too tired to deal with these things.

“You’re welcome,” Castiel told the ceiling. He was taking a chance, confronting the strangeness that Dean thought set him apart, but it almost never worked. He thought that was reason enough to believe Dean might find it pleasing.

“Okay, how do you _know_ that,” Dean groaned, rolling away from him. “I don’t like everything weird, I swear.”

“I know,” Castiel agreed. He felt safe in turning his head to watch now that Dean was facing the other direction. “But normal things bore you after the first few tries.”

“Do you do research?” Dean’s voice was garbled with the sound of the radio, but it didn’t sound muffled by sheets anymore. “Are there, like, books and stuff?”

“Yes,” Castiel said. “And no.”

“There aren’t any books,” Dean said flatly.

“No,” Castiel agreed. “But I have done a significant amount of research.”

Dean was quiet for a moment, just the sound of the radio show talking and laughing to itself, and Castiel wondered if he’d closed his eyes again. Then he asked, “What year is my car?”

“1967,” Castiel replied.

“I had a dog when I was a kid,” Dean began.

“Freddy Case,” Castiel said.

Dean rolled onto his back again, turning his head to stare at him, and this time Castiel didn’t look away. “When did I realize I liked guys?”

“When did you first notice?” Castiel asked evenly. “Or when did you admit it to yourself?”

Dean frowned, and Castiel thought there two likely reactions: how, and why. Or, less likely, some sort of expletive followed by an order to cease and desist, but then why would he have kept asking? No. Much more likely that this would be the thing that finally pushed Dean past acceptance into outright curiosity.

He was right.

About the curiosity. Not about its manifestation.

“I gotta catch up,” Dean said abruptly. “What’s your favorite color?”

Castiel blinked. “I... don’t have one.”

“Everyone has a favorite color,” Dean told him. “Would you wear a red shirt? No, because red isn’t your favorite color. “What about blue? Green? I figure it’s either blue or green or black. Or maybe gray.”

“Black and gray aren’t colors,” Castiel pointed out.

“You can still like ’em,” Dean said. “I bet it’s blue. You pick that color for your car?”

Castiel hesitated only because the real answer conflicted with the story he was used to giving. “Yes,” he admitted.

“I knew it,” Dean said. “Nobody drives something like that by accident. Okay, so blue. You ever been to Mexico?”

“Yes,” Castiel said. “Not recently.”

“How recent is recently?” Dean wanted to know.

“Not in the last five hundred years,” Castiel said.

“Seriously?” Dean said, and the skepticism was unmistakable. “In five hundred years, you didn’t find time to check in and see how Mexico was doing? Is it really that boring?”

Castiel had to smile. “That’s not what I expected you to say,” he admitted.

“Surprise,” Dean told him. “I went to seminary. People tell me weirder stuff than this in the vegetable aisle at the grocery store.”

“They’re lucky to have your ear,” Castiel said.

Dean sighed, rolling his head in the other direction. Toward the clock, which Castiel definitely should have hidden when he had the chance. “Speaking of,” Dean said, “I gotta get up. You going back to the roof today?”

“Yes,” Castiel said. “We should be able to finish this morning.”

“Just in time for the snow tonight,” Dean grumbled, shoving the blankets back as he pushed himself up. “You’re awesome, but I guess that wasn’t really my question.” He turned, dragging his knee around as he stared down at Castiel. “You feeling any better this morning?”

“Significantly,” Castiel agreed. “I apologize for my weakness last night. I realize that I put you in an uncomfortable position, and I appreciate your tolerance.”

Dean stared down at him. “You realize,” he said after a moment, “that everyone pretends with me. They tell me stuff in confidence, stuff like their whole world falling apart, and then they go back out there and pretend like everything’s okay. Like nothing they said mattered, like they’re not thinking about it every second of every single day.”

The message was very clear. Castiel swallowed, because he _needed_ this facade – and it was impossible to ignore the fact that Dean needed something else. “If I behave as though everything is fine,” he said, “it’s because to do otherwise is to invite apathy and suspicion. My own and everyone else’s, respectively.”

Dean continued to look at him for a long moment, not moving. Castiel just waited, because he was far better at responding to situations than he was at attempting to steer them himself. Especially where Dean was concerned.

“I’m not suspicious,” Dean said at last. “And I thought we covered apathy last night.”

“Everything’s not okay,” Castiel said quietly. “Nonetheless, everything I told you is true. Last night and this morning. You averted my crisis of faith, and I am significantly better for it. I do appreciate your tolerance, since no matter what people tell you, I find it unlikely that you’re accustomed to having them destroy your lights and knock over your furniture while they do it.”

The corners of Dean’s mouth quirked. “No,” he said. “No, that was a new one. Even for me.”

“Thank you,” Castiel repeated. “You helped me find my priorities again, and for that, I am very grateful.”

“Yeah?” Dean said. “What are your priorities?”

“You,” Castiel said simply. “You are my chosen focus, my current mission. You are the reason I’m here. After that, I suppose I may rearrange my priorities of escape and subterfuge as I see fit.”

“Wait, hang on,” Dean said. “Escape?”

“What I do is not without repercussions, Dean. There are others like me who would rather I return to the fold, where my activities may be more closely supervised.”

Dean connected the dots immediately. “They’re the ones you think will get me in trouble if they come looking for you.”

“They are,” Castiel said, staring up at him. “The less you know about me, the safer you will be.”

This time, a moment passed before Dean asked, “What if I want to know?”

“Then I suggest you don’t tell anyone else the answers to the questions you ask,” Castiel replied.

A smile flashed on Dean’s face. “Man, my whole life is keeping secrets. I’m really good at it.”

It was more depressing than reassuring. “I would not ask it of you if it were not for your own safety,” Castiel said quietly. “I don’t want to be yet another secret you keep.”

“I’m not doing it for me,” Dean said. “I’m doing it for you. And I really hope you’ve weighed my stuff against yours, here. If whoever’s after you is more serious than whatever help you think I need, I’d rather you just left it alone.”

“No,” Castiel said.

“No, what?” Dean insisted. “No it’s not more serious, or no you won’t leave it alone?”

Castiel sat up, and he saw the flicker in Dean’s expression as he moved back. Funny that it was this, of everything, that startled Dean. After the truth and the purpose and the breakdown, it wasn’t Castiel that Dean was having trouble handling at all. It was the fact that Dean wanted him.

“Where it is within my power,” Castiel said quietly, “I will prevent others of my kind from knowing so much as your name. But I will not give up my mission here, and I will not allow you to thwart it. Either intentionally or accidentally.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “So I can’t choose not to be saved?”

“No,” Castiel said. But he knew this would not agree with Dean, in principle if possibly not in practice, so he softened his expression as best he could and offered a small smile. “I like you too much. Were I to fail in this, I would not be able to go on.”

“Huh.” That seemed to have the desired effect, momentarily stumping Dean and giving Castiel enough time to figure out what he wanted to hear.

“I won’t endanger myself,” Castiel said. “No more than I did by choosing this path, long before you. This is what I do, Dean. This is why I go on.”

Dean wasn’t without words for long. He continued to avoid “how” or “why,” but he certainly wasn’t holding back. “Your kind,” he said. “What’s your kind? Don’t –” He held up his hand as though he already knew what Castiel was going to say. “Don’t say, ‘saving people, helping things.’ Don’t say creepy, or secretive, or anything else that’s true that isn’t what I’m asking. You know what I want to know.”

“I already told you what you want to know,” Castiel said evenly.

“Well, tell me again,” Dean said.

“Angels,” Castiel said. “We’re angels.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t ask again. Instead he wanted to know, “Can you play a harp?”

“Perhaps,” Castiel said. “I don’t know. I’ve never had occasion to try.”

The corner of Dean’s mouth quirked, and a reluctant smile made his lips twitch. “Okay, well. Maybe you should try guitar first. It’ll help you blend in better.”

“I will take that into consideration,” Castiel told him. He was still waiting for the moment when Dean drew back, when he looked at Castiel like he was alien, like he was too foreign to comprehend. But all Dean did was glance back at the clock.

“Man,” he said. “I gotta get going.” He gave Castiel a look like he knew exactly what he was thinking. “Which is almost the last thing I want to do right now, but I’m really hoping that if I let you leave you’ll come back. I’m sure I can’t keep you, anyway.”

“You’d be surprised,” Castiel said softly.

It made Dean reach out, laying a hand alongside his face, and Castiel tilted his head into the touch gratefully. “Don’t tempt me,” Dean said. “Seriously. I think wanting to bang an angel is pretty profane.”

“I know you,” Castiel said, lifting his hand to cover Dean’s. To keep him from letting go. “You help people find the sacred in the profane.”

Dean chuckled, putting his free hand on the other side of Castiel’s face. “This is a little farther than I usually go,” he said, staring intently at Castiel’s expression. He must have found whatever he was looking for, because he leaned forward a fraction and murmured, “But I’m pretty sure you’re encouraging the hell out of me, so.”

Then Dean’s mouth was on his, and he wasn’t afraid. He would save this man, and it would mean something, and he would look back on it at the end of his days and think, _this was worth it._

He didn’t want Dean to stop kissing him, but he did. He wanted to press himself up against Dean, to use everything he knew about relationships like this to make it worth Dean’s while to stay in bed... but he didn’t. Dean would go to work, and Castiel would finish the repairs he had chosen as his cover, and if he was very lucky there would be time for one more date before Dean’s bright soul tried to flee.


	3. Chapter 3

**9 December again, but snowier**

The final date came that evening, when Dean showed up at the Three Birds unannounced. Still in his professional clothes, looking holy and rumpled and entirely too beautiful for Castiel to keep him standing out in the hallway. He remained in the doorway anyway, just so Dean would have some warning.

“I’m going to invite you in,” Castiel said. “But I didn’t know you were coming, and you may feel the need to use the word ‘creepy’ again.”

Dean grinned at him, leaning up against the doorframe and putting his face very close to Castiel’s. “Hello to you too,” he said. “I’m gonna be ruined for anything not creepy after this.”

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said with a smile. “Come in.”

He stepped away from the door, and Dean swung into the room without hesitation. “So,” Dean said, his gaze sweeping over the bags and the computer and the maps. “Me and Sam are getting takeout tonight. Chinese. You want to come over?”

He’d left one of the pictures out – a personal weakness, since he’d had Dean’s image committed to memory before he ever laid eyes on the man. But Dean had been funny as a child, playing in the yard of the house his mother still owned. There was something about his exuberance that came through, even in the still photograph, though the film must have been overexposed because everything in it was washed in white: Dean, the tire swing, the tree it hung from.

Dean looked up from the picture and raised his eyebrows, making an eating motion with his hand. Castiel blinked, surprised that he hadn’t been distracted. “Yes,” he said quickly. “I would enjoy that.”

“Great,” Dean said, taking a step back to hitch his hip up on the bed. “Can I give you a ride?”

“Please,” Castiel said. “Let me just –” He gestured at the computer, still displaying a weather map and a satellite image of the town. Behind those windows were lists of residents, area shelters, emergency response procedures. Town plowing schedules. He was glad the pictures had been on top when Dean came in.

“Sure thing,” Dean agreed. He didn’t miss what was on the monitor, though Castiel closed the screens behind the topmost images without bringing them forward. “Gonna get some snow tonight, huh? Doesn’t feel like it.”

“No,” Castiel agreed absently. “It’s still quite warm outside.” Which would be the problem, unfortunately. He was glad Dean had come over. It saved Castiel from having to seek him out before the precipitation began. Having one car between them would also work in his favor.

“Hey,” Dean said. “Is there anything in here you wouldn’t leave without?”

Some kind of shock raced through Castiel, and the room sparked into immediate, urgent relief. Dean had been going through his bag. Dean had found something. Castiel knew exactly what he would see when he looked up, and his gaze went unerringly to Dean’s hand.

“Yes,” he said, trying to keep his voice as normal as possible. “You’re holding it.”

“Pretty,” Dean said, looking from Castiel to the tiny bottle and back again. The little glass vessel glowed softly in his hand. Every part of Castiel cried out for completion, and it was all he could do to keep from tearing the thing out of Dean’s hand. “Can I –”

Castiel had taken a step toward Dean before he even realized he’d moved, and Dean broke off.

Slowly, Dean closed his fingers around the glowing bottle and lowered it back into Castiel’s bag. “Right,” he said carefully. Castiel could feel the second he let it go, pulling his hand back out and holding it up to show that it was empty. “Shouldn’t have done that. Sorry.”

Castiel could only stare. If Dean looked, now, he would find only an ordinary-looking glass memento vial. It was all anyone else should have seen. It was very clear to Castiel, however, that not only had Dean made it glow, but he had been aware that it was glowing. Which was almost as impossible as the fact that he had picked it up in the first place.

Dean lifted his other hand, also empty. He hadn’t straightened up from the bed, but he was unmistakably surrendering. Whatever Castiel had done to cover his reaction hadn’t been enough. Dean could see something on his face, in his posture, _something_. He’d meant that apology.

“It’s okay,” Castiel said abruptly. His voice was working again, and he should have reassured Dean already. He couldn’t possibly have any idea what he’d done. “Don’t... don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t,” Dean said. He didn’t move, and his tone was careful. Not chiding. But determined. “Lie to me.”

“I’m not,” Castiel said. With equal care. “I am... surprised that you were able to do that. But it wasn’t wrong. You did nothing I would expect you to apologize for.”

“Did I do something you want me to apologize for?” Dean countered.

“No,” Castiel said slowly. “Although – I do wish you were capable of explaining.”

“Trying to be cute,” Dean said. “That’s all. You look like you’re packed up; you said you’d tell me before you left. I suddenly thought, maybe I’m not going to get much warning. If I snag something from you that you’d want back, you’d have to at least come see me and say goodbye in person.”

Castiel found himself smiling, which was very close to the last reaction he would have thought Dean could elicit right now. It wasn’t what he’d meant, of course, but it was a charming explanation nonetheless. “If you take that,” he said, “I’ll never leave. Not just the town. Your side.”

“You always have it with you?” Dean said. He looked like Castiel was doing the opposite of convincing him. “So what’s it doing in your bag?”

“My wallet and my keys are also in that bag,” Castiel pointed out. And Dean’s iPod, but if he hadn’t missed it yet, Castiel wasn’t going to tell him that he’d effectively stolen it. “I was planning on taking it with me if I went out tonight.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, leaning back a little to peer into the bag without turning. “Cas,” he said, a smile in his voice even if it wasn’t obvious on his face. “Is this an overnight bag?”

“Only if you’re inviting me overnight,” Castiel replied, which wasn’t entirely true but he thought it was in the spirit of the question. If Dean didn’t invite him, he would be staking out the house. Dean’s time was drawing near, and Castiel had no intention of losing him over something so trivial as politeness.

“Sam’s home,” Dean reminded him.

Castiel shrugged. “I require nothing that he couldn’t witness.”

Dean’s smile widened. “I don’t know if that’s kinky or cute. And now I’m really embarrassed that I just used the word ‘cute’ twice inside five minutes. Stop me if I start doing that around Sam, okay?”

“I will do my best to keep you from embarrassing yourself,” Castiel agreed, “but I’m afraid I’m a poor judge. I find your current behavior as endearing as it is bewildering.”

“Bewildering?” Dean repeated. “Really?”

Castiel tilted his head, and Dean added, “I’m ignoring ‘endearing,’ by the way. In my head, that sounded just like ‘cute,’ and I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know.”

“But you do want to know about bewildering,” Castiel said.

“I can’t be that hard to figure out,” Dean said. “You’ve got my whole life story in this room. What’s so bewildering about it?”

That, Castiel thought, was exactly it. He did know Dean’s life story. Yet he couldn’t predict what Dean would do, he couldn’t guess what he would say next. He had no idea why Dean had shown up at his room after everything he’d seen and heard the night before.

“It doesn’t explain you,” Castiel said. “I should understand you by now. But I don’t.”

Dean snorted, looking more amused than offended. “You’re not exactly an open book yourself, so you’re not gonna get a lot of sympathy here. But if there’s something you want to know, you could always ask.”

“Why aren’t you afraid of me?” Castiel wanted to know. “I’m strange, alien, powerful. Yet you treat me like anyone else in your limited experience. I don’t understand.”

“Okay, wow,” Dean said. “So I may regret saying that. Obviously.”

“You told me to ask,” Castiel said. “I would ask why you made my dormant grace light up when you touched it, but I can’t fathom how you could possibly know that.”

“This is where I stop treating you like everyone else,” Dean told him. “When you stop talking to me like I’m an equal, I get annoyed. I get more than annoyed; I get really pissed.

“I accept that it’s true,” he added, holding up his hands again. “You’re a – whatever, you know stuff, you can do stuff I can’t. But if you know anything about me, you must know I can’t stand people treating me like an idiot. So either tell me what you’re talking about, or don’t bring it up.”

Castiel studied him. Respect, he wondered? Dean gave what he got? He’d seen plenty of evidence over the course of Dean’s life that the man found ways to return favors in full. If not to the source, then onward in a sort of pay-it-forward scheme. Perhaps he’d simply folded Castiel into that philosophy and carried on as though nothing was different.

Until Castiel made the difference clear by drawing attention to everything Dean didn’t know.

He intended to apologize. To take the second option Dean offered, the way out he had put in front of Castiel like a gift. _Just don’t mention it,_ he seemed to say, _and we can keep being like this._ Castiel could go and have dinner with him and Sam and if he maintained his carefully human guise Dean might let him stay overnight. He would be able to guard Dean as closely as any other charge, and he would be ready when he was needed.

_What about what you need?_

He didn’t know if it was the memory of Dean’s question that made him stride across the room, thrust his hand into the bag, and yank out a glass bottle that burst into vibrant blinding light with a single touch. He didn’t know if it was the way Dean had introduced him to everyone he knew, made him coffee he actually liked and then told him he didn’t have to drink it, or invited him into bed when he felt more alone than he’d ever been.

He didn’t know why he did it: if it was for him, or for Dean, or if he was just tired of not knowing. If he was tired of no one knowing. “This,” he said, pressing the vessel into Dean’s chest. “This is what I am. Can you feel it recognize you? It shouldn’t do that. It’s never done that before. You baffle me. And I assure you, I am not often baffled.”

Dean hadn’t stumbled, didn’t flinch, was using the bed to brace himself even as he stared back. Castiel could feel his grace flashing through Dean’s awareness like ice, too cold to register as anything but shock as it slid through his body. Racing outwards from the point of contact against his chest. Dean was glowing and he was just _taking_ it, like it was nothing new, like he –

Castiel dropped his hand, the vessel falling away from Dean’s body. _Now_ he slumped, gasping for breath even as his lungs collapsed and his shoulders hunched, shying away from Castiel’s touch without actually pushing him back. It was the withdrawal that made him fold. Not the grace itself.

“You’ve been with another angel,” Castiel said flatly.

“What?” Dean choked, still holding himself up with the bed. “What are you talking about! What _is_ that!”

“Have you seen this before?” Castiel demanded. He held the vial up between them and Dean winced, turning his head away. “You went for it in my bag right away.”

“Because it lit up when I touched it!” Dean protested, getting a hand in front of his face to shield his eyes. “I have no idea what it is; I’ve never seen anything like it in my life! I thought it was cool, okay! That’s the only reason I picked it up!”

“You shouldn’t be able to touch it,” Castiel said. “It isn’t meant for human contact.”

“Oh, well, thanks for that,” Dean said, still leaning away from him. “That’s so comforting after you slammed it into my chest!”

“It recognizes you,” Castiel repeated.

“I don’t even know what it is!” Dean snapped.

“It’s me,” Castiel said. He lowered the light slowly, and Dean glared at him over the top of his hand. “It’s the part of me that can’t be contained by this form, the part that can be tracked. The part that will let the others find me.”

“What, like the bat signal?” Dean didn’t sound amused. “They’re all coming now because you made your special tummy badge light up?”

Castiel frowned. “I don’t know what a tummy badge is,” he said. “And I didn’t make it light up. You did.”

“Oh, excuse me,” Dean retorted, “but I’m not the one touching it right now.”

“It’s mine,” Castiel said impatiently. “It’s rarely dormant in proximity to me. It shouldn’t respond so to you. And you certainly shouldn’t be able to see it.”

“Well, I guess I’m just special,” Dean said. “Are you still pissed at me, or can I sit down?”

“Are you all right?” Castiel scrutinized him, inside and out, and found no anomalies. He didn’t know if that was comforting or not, at this point, but he’d take it. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“You tell me,” Dean said, pushing his bag out of the way and easing back onto the bed. “I can feel you doing your creepy soul stare; what does it say? Do I have angel cooties?”

Castiel stared at him. “You can feel that?”

Dean looked up, raising his eyebrows. “You’re really doing something?”

Castiel drew in a breath he didn’t need but would probably never lose the habit of taking. He picked up the bag on the other side of Dean and set it on the floor, moving in slowly enough that he could monitor Dean’s reaction. When he didn’t flinch, Castiel sat down carefully beside him.

“You,” he said at last, “are... not what I expected.”

Dean huffed in something that could have been amusement or relief. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m kind of getting that.”

Castiel didn’t move. “I’m not what you expected, either.”

This time, Dean outright laughed. “Understatement,” he said.

Castiel didn’t know where to go from there.

After a long moment, Dean said, “Okay, look. Do you have people coming after you now? After... whatever that was? Did that get their attention, or whatever?”

“No,” Castiel said. “This –” The hand holding the vial twitched, and errant light spilled through his fingers. He saw Dean glanced down at it. “It’s a containment device. It hides what’s within until it shatters. It isn’t easy to shatter,” he added.

“Okay,” Dean repeated. “So, in terms of safety, we’re pretty much where we were before.”

“No,” Castiel said. “We’re several minutes closer to your death.”

“Right,” Dean said, after a noticeable hesitation. “That’s nice. But that hasn’t changed, right?”

Castiel shook his head wordlessly.

“So,” Dean continued. “It comes down to you and me. Are we okay?”

Castiel looked up, startled by a question that he recognized as an olive branch. No one asked that question if they didn’t want the other person to answer. In fact, in his experience, no one asked that question unless they wanted the other person to answer _yes_.

“Yes?” he said tentatively.

“Yeah?” Dean echoed. “You’re not gonna go all ‘I’m awesome and you’re puny and insignificant’ on me again?”

“Not... intentionally?” Castiel said. He didn’t know if that would be enough.

“Okay,” Dean said. “What about me? Am I freaking you out with my...” He trailed off, waving his hand in a way that didn’t seem to mean anything. “Whatever it is about me that freaks you out?”

“No,” Castiel said quickly. “It isn’t freaking me out. It’s just...”

“Baffling,” Dean finished for him.

He wanted to smile. “Yes.”

“Is that okay?” Dean asked. “I mean, do we need to... we could – not hang out tonight, or something.”

“That’s not necessary,” Castiel said.

He wanted to say, that won’t help. He wanted to say, I won’t allow that. If Dean was to survive the week, he was going to have to deal with Castiel’s increasingly close presence in his life, and Castiel wanted to tell him so that he could, perhaps, be forgiven for his interference.

He wanted to say, I wish you I could take you with me.

“You still want to come?” Dean insisted. “Sam doesn’t know about... any of this. I guess I don’t know about this, either, so maybe it doesn’t matter. But you give him a hint and he’ll be all over it. He’s way more intense than I am. Fair warning.”

Now Castiel couldn’t help smiling. “I find that very difficult to believe,” he said.

“Well, flattery’ll get you everywhere,” Dean said. He picked up Castiel’s bag and slid it across his lap, holding it open with one hand. “It stops glowing when you’re not touching it?”

Castiel dropped it into his bag without a word, watching Dean follow its path with his eyes. “Huh,” Dean said. “That’s... less conspicuous, I guess.”

He hadn’t stopped smiling. “Indeed.”

“Need anything else?” Dean asked, already zipping the bag up for him. “Did you get your computer shut down before I broke both our brains?”

Castiel glanced over at his laptop. It had gone dark, and he could only hope it was sleeping. Small amounts of grace interacted better with modern technology than large ones. “Yes,” he said. Then he realized what he was doing and amended, “No, but. I think it’s all right.”

“Uh-huh.” Dean sounded like he understood. “Which part of that was true?”

“The middle part,” Castiel admitted.

“I can wait,” Dean reminded him.

So he tried to get the computer to come back online, which it did, for the sole purpose of shutting it down. This seemed to mollify Dean. He still insisted on carrying Castiel’s bag, which was somewhat uncomfortable, but if that was the price of staying at Dean’s side then he would pay it gladly.

Or he meant to, until they reached Dean’s car. There was a light rain falling, but Dean opened the passenger door for him and waited for Castiel to get in and look back at him. “I’d put this in the back,” he said, “except I think it’s freaking you out to have me carry it. Am I right?”

Castiel hesitated. “For certain definitions of ‘freaking out,’” he said carefully. “It’s not the arrangement I would have chosen, but it seems to reassure you more than it discomfits me, so. You may do as you will.”

Dean stood there for a moment, looking at him, but finally a smile crept onto his face. “That was a pretty good answer,” he said. “Here, have a prize.” He handed Castiel his bag before he closed the door.

The windshield wipers swept clear arcs in front of his vision as they pulled out of the parking lot. “I still have your iPod,” Castiel said suddenly, watching the raindrops make light bleed across the front of the car.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “I figured.”

He blinked, forgetting about the weather for a moment.

“I listen to it when I’m driving,” Dean offered. “When I couldn’t find it this morning, I thought you’d probably walked out with it. In your pocket or something.”

“On purpose,” Castiel said quietly. “I... I wish I could say it was so you would have a reason to come get it, but truly, I just like your music.”

Dean laughed out loud, and Castiel glanced over at him. Dean looked so genuinely entertained that Castiel blurted out, “Why do you never react the way I think you will? It’s like you read my mind, find what I expect – in order of likelihood, no less – and then do something that never even made the list. It continues to astonish me.”

“Sweet,” Dean said, drumming his fingers on the wheel with every appearance of happy enthusiasm. “My day just gets better.”

Castiel frowned. “Most people say that sarcastically,” he began.

“Nope,” Dean interrupted. “Not me. Guess again.”

“You like surprising me,” Castiel surmised.

“Sure do,” Dean agreed cheerfully. “Everyone, really, but you more than most. I think it’s ’cause you don’t try to hide it.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, but a few seconds later, he saw Dean glance at him out of the corner of his eye. “I like it,” Dean added. “If that sounded weird, I mean. I like that you don’t pretend not to be surprised.”

“I do,” Castiel admitted. “I do pretend not to be surprised. I have a lot of practice at it, actually. I’m a little disturbed that it doesn’t work on you.”

Dean didn’t seem to be. “Maybe I’m just so surprising you can’t hide it,” he teased.

Castiel considered that. “I think that’s a distinct possibility.”

It seemed to satisfy Dean, if not him. He was so preoccupied by the thought that he didn’t at first notice they weren’t going in the right direction. Then he had more reason to be disturbed, because the moment he turned to look, Dean noticed. “We’re gonna pick up the food, if that’s okay. That was Sam’s price for letting me bring you: we get the food.”

“If it isn’t convenient to have me,” Castiel began.

“I wouldn’t have invited you,” Dean said firmly. “Sam likes you, he’s just distracted. He and Jess and Sarah have a lot going on. They always have a lot going on. I guess it’s hard juggling all their schedules into one kind of shared... thing.”

Waving in Castiel’s direction, he added, “Menu in the glove box. We can call it in from the road if you know what you want. I was planning to wait for it, though, so no pressure.”

He found the menu – with circles all over it, and letters beside the circles. Some of the letters had numbers. “Your favorites?” he asked, tipping it toward Dean. Not that he really wanted Dean to look away from the road, but it seemed like the thing to do.

Dean gave it a sideways glance but didn’t turn his head. “The circles? Yeah. Our initials are next to ’em. So we know what to call in depending on who’s coming to dinner. Sam’s got one in his car too.”

There was a beat, and then, “It’s possible we get take out too much.”

Castiel smiled. “It feeds a large group of varied tastes, does it not?”

“Yeah, Sam keeps us guessing,” Dean said. “Sometimes he’s vegetarian, sometimes he’s not. Sarah is except when there’s something she wants, and Jess had a vegan phase that ruled out pretty much everything we eat.”

“They’ve been together a long time, then,” Castiel said, considering the menu. The biggest letters were “S” and “D” but they weren’t alone. There were smaller initials, including “JM” and “SB.” Some of the circles had a single “J” next to them, others a double. A couple of them said simply, “Mom.”

“Sam and Jess have been together since they were undergrads,” Dean said. “They’ve known Sarah a while, but they didn’t draw her into their little love nest until last year.”

Castiel turned the menu over. “You disapprove,” he observed.

“None of my business,” Dean said. “Or so Sam tells me.”

Castiel looked out at the road and then over at Dean. “You disapprove,” he repeated.

Dean shrugged. “I disapprove of a lot of stuff, Cas. But you know what I really hate? I hate people hurting each other. Drowning kittens, running out on their kids, that kind of thing. Not my brother. Definitely not my brother being with two girls who say they’re totally happy.”

Castiel didn’t answer, but he wondered if “being happy” was Dean’s defining criteria for moral behavior. Being happy and not hurting others, perhaps. If that was how he judged everyone’s actions, then Castiel might not be on such shaky ground as he thought.

“You still looking at that menu?” Dean asked. “Do you even like Chinese? I guess if you don’t need to eat, liking the food matters more, right?”

Castiel considered that. “Does it?”

Dean shrugged. “Dunno,” he said. “I figure, even if I don’t like the food, I gotta eat something. But if you don’t have to, you just do it to... because everyone else is? I mean, you don’t really get anything out of it.”

“Sharing food is a very social endeavor,” Castiel pointed out. “I get the benefit of the experience, even if I don’t require the nutritional or caloric content of the food.”

“But do you like it?” Dean insisted. “Chinese? We could get something else.”

“I do like Chinese food,” Castiel said. “I notice that there is no ‘S’ or ‘D’ next to chicken fingers.”

“Yeah, you want some?” Dean said. “You have a different initial; you’re all set. Just put a ‘C’ next to them. And anything else you want. I think there’s a pencil in there somewhere.”

He couldn’t help noticing that the initials on the menu were either in pen, or marker, or pencil that had been traced over with pen or marker. But he wasn’t completely sure why Dean would want his initials on there in the first place. There was no reason to think he would ever need to know what Castiel wanted to order again.

“Would you like me to call it in?” he offered, after he had penciled in a couple of light “C”s.

“Yeah, thanks.” Dean fumbled with his coat. “I have the number in my phone.”

“It’s on the menu,” Castiel pointed out. He already had his own out. “Shall I give them your name?”

“They do it by phone number,” Dean said. He’d finally managed to get his phone free, and he offered it to Castiel. “We use Sam’s cell.”

Castiel assumed the phone was for finding Sam’s number. There were so many numbers in Dean’s address book that he had to search “sam” just to get to the “S”s. He got it, though, and when he offered it at the beginning of their order the person on the other end of the line said, “Sam?”

“Yes,” Castiel agreed, because it seemed easiest. He read off the order, noting Dean’s amused reaction when he added the vegetables and chicken fingers, and thanked the restaurant for their time before hanging up.

“Fifteen minutes,” he told Dean as he passed his phone back.

“Thanks,” Dean said. “Take us that long to get there, so hey. We won’t have to wait.”

Dean’s town didn’t have its own Chinese restaurant, apparently. Or perhaps Dean just preferred a different one. It was clearly the favored family source for Chinese food, given the initials on the glove box menu. Castiel wondered, fleetingly, if Dean and Sam ever let their parents call in orders from those menus.

Was it difficult for divorced couples to remain in such close proximity? They still went to the same church, yet Jess had been given explicit permission from Sam to avoid moments when his parents were part of the same conversation. Dean clearly felt responsible for their continued good relations. Would they go to lengths that great simply to please him?

 _People who run out on their kids,_ Dean had said. It was on his list of hated things.

“Hang on,” Dean said.

He sounded calm, intent, and the car was already lurching, tires squealing as Dean yanked the wheel to the side and tried to kill their forward motion. Castiel knew as of this afternoon that it wasn’t the fastest the vehicle could stop short of full frontal impact. But it was an impressive showing for something as big and heavy as the car Dean drove.

“Sorry,” Dean added, wheels bouncing as he maneuvered the car back onto the road. They hadn’t gone off by much. “Cat. You okay?”

“Yes,” Castiel said. There had been no cat, but he was glad to know that Dean would stop for one. “You have good reflexes.”

“Have to,” Dean admitted. “Car like this. She’s solid and classic and I love her, but she doesn’t stop on a dime.”

The turning radius was also quite large, Castiel noted. It significantly hindered his evasive ability. The tires, on the other hand, seemed to stick to the road quite well for a car without all-wheel drive. Even on a wet substrate.

“You’re well accustomed to this car,” Castiel remarked.

“Been driving her since I was –” Dean stopped, giving him a sideways look. They were back up to speed, and it was a quick look. “You know. You must know my dad gave me this car when I turned eighteen.”

Dean had told him that himself, but the suspicion didn't come from the source. It came from his own uncertainty. All Castiel said was, “I intended it to be a compliment."

“Right.” Dean shook his head, like the hesitation irritated him. “Sorry. Thanks.” He flashed a smile at him across the front seat of the car, and Castiel tried not to feel guilty. It was for Dean’s own good, he reminded himself.

The raindrops had gotten larger by the time they reached the restaurant, but it wasn’t crowded early on a Wednesday night. Dean got a spot near the door, their food was ready, Castiel asked for an extra fortune cookie before they got all the way back to the car and realized it wasn’t there. Dean left a tip.

They spent the ride back discussing the music Dean had that Castiel didn’t recognize. At one point Dean complained that he couldn’t predict what Castiel _would_ recognize, given the unrelated things he’d heard, and Castiel had to smile. “Everyone gives me music,” he said. “I remember it all, but I rarely hear it in its original context.”

This somehow seemed to make sense to Dean. He said he was making a list of things Castiel needed to hear: “I’d put it on my iPod,” he said, “except, oh yeah. I don’t have it.”

“I do,” Castiel admitted.

“I know,” Dean said. He sounded amused.

“No, I mean, I have it with me.” Castiel pushed the food aside and leaned forward, intending to free the iPod from his bag, when he felt Dean’s hand on his shoulder. He looked over in surprise.

Dean hadn’t taken his eyes off the road, but he shook his head when he felt Cas looking at him. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “Get it later.” Squeezing Cas’ shoulder, he added apologetically, “Worse place to be in a crash. You never know what’s gonna run out in the road around here.”

Still thinking about the “cat,” Castiel realized. He tried not to frown. He hadn’t meant to raise the alarm. There was a reason he never told his charges what he was protecting them from before it happened. Most of them not even after.

The rain was interspersed with heavy wet snowflakes by the time they pulled into the driveway, and Dean fished an extra coat out of the back. “For the food,” he said, when Castiel gave him a look. “What, I don’t want it to get wet!”

Sam’s car was already there, and Dean’s brother came out to relieve them of the food as soon as they were inside. Dean was left with his (wet) coat, and Castiel was introduced to “where we hang things that need to dry.” Anywhere they wouldn’t touch other things, as far as he could see.

They ate in the kitchen with actual plates and silverware, though Dean assured him this was only because he was present. Sam was, as promised, friendly and entertaining and far more responsible than Dean when it came to driving in bad weather. He and Castiel did briefly discuss the system that was bearing down on them, though mostly in the context of when Castiel should leave – if he was going to – and how much less safe Dean might be on the drive back.

“Okay, first off,” Dean said, “I’m not chasing anyone out the door right after dinner. Second, it’s barely even snowing out there. It’s mostly rain. They’re not even gonna have to clear the roads at this rate.”

“It’s changing over,” Sam insisted. “It’s gonna snow all night, Dean.”

“Yeah, starting when?” Dean retorted. “After midnight? That’s plenty of time.”

So they took turns going to the back door, switching on the light, and commenting on the current weather conditions. When Dean did it, it was always raining with no sign of snow. When Sam did it, the snow was already falling and the only concession he made to rain was the fact that it was a particularly wet snow. Castiel took his turn, of course, but since he had no actual plans to leave, his view of the weather was variable.

If Dean thought it was perfectly safe and he could leave at any time – and thus had no reason to go now – he agreed. If Sam thought it was already getting dangerous, and they should wait until the sanding trucks went out, he agreed with that as well. It wasn’t like he had anywhere else to go tonight.

The constant weather checks abated after they put on “Monty Python and the Quest for the Holy Grail.”

After “Monty Python” they switched over to Jon Stewart again, and Sam pleaded exhaustion after the opening monologue. He did a final weather check on his way to bed. The news wasn’t good. “Dean,” he called from the door. “It’s officially not raining anymore.”

“Yeah?” Dean let his head rest on the back of the couch and craned his neck toward Sam, but he made no other move to indicate interest. “It stop?”

“The snow is sticking,” Sam informed him. “There’s like half an inch of slush out here.”

“Huh,” Dean said, rolling his head toward Cas. “You wanna go?”

Castiel didn’t feel he needed to answer that question, but he shook his head anyway.

“He’s gonna stay,” Dean called, settling back into his couch cushion. “I’ll drive him back in the morning.”

There was the sound of the door closing, and then Sam said, “If I thought you’d decided that to be safe, I’d say good call. But since I don’t, I’m gonna say keep it down. Seriously, I’m right upstairs.”

Dean lifted his hand off the back of the couch and waved at Sam. Castiel’s gaze followed the motion, and that was the only reason he realized Dean was giving his brother the finger. It was one more on a short list of minor indiscretions that Castiel had taken to collecting. He liked to see them.

Sam had only been gone a few minutes when the lights dimmed. They brightened again immediately, but it was enough to make Dean grumble. He was pushing himself up, leaving the remote with Castiel before shuffling into the kitchen. Castiel heard the sink running almost constantly for the next five minutes.

No sooner had Dean returned than the lights flickered enough that the house went completely dark for a fraction of a second. The TV went off. The cable went off. And when the room lit up again, the TV and the cable were still gone. Dean frowned, rescuing the remote from the couch by Castiel’s hand. He pointed it at the TV, which sprang obediently back to life.

“Keep watching,” Dean told him. “I’m just gonna get some more water upstairs. Just in case.”

“Water?” Castiel asked, frowning up at him.

“We have a well,” Dean said. “No electricity, no pump. No water. If you’re gonna want a shower tonight, you might want to take it now.”

“I see.” And he did. The temperature was hovering right around the freezing mark, and the waterlogged snow was icing over. Everywhere. The roads, the roofs... the power lines. He had no doubt that if they switched the cable to news, they would see some sort of weather advisory, perhaps relating to travel.

Perhaps outages were already being reported. He tried not to think about what was coming, because what could he do? This was simply part of the winter Dean’s town would endure. They had gone through it before, and they would do so again.

“No,” he added, when he realized Dean was waiting for an answer. “I’m all right. Thank you.”

“Think I’ll take one, then.” Dean dropped a hand to his shoulder, squeezing gently. “You need anything, help yourself. I’ll be back down in a little while.”

“Of course.” Castiel managed a smile, trying to tamp down the urge to follow Dean _right now_. He was fine. He was safe in his own house. Castiel knew full well that Dean would make it through the night without incident, but the closer the time got, the harder it would be to let him out of his sight.

He might as well take advantage of the fact that he could still let it happen now, while Dean certainly wanted privacy. Castiel was about to become – in Dean’s words – very, very creepy. He would enjoy these last few moments of relative normalcy by watching TV while Dean prepared for bed. Safely upstairs, with no plans to leave until the following day.

He shouldn’t have fallen asleep. He didn’t. He was sure he hadn’t slept. Except that suddenly that hand was back on his shoulder, careful and strong and just short of shaking him, and he couldn’t seem to open his eyes. But his eyes were open. That was a light. He was –

“Hey,” Dean’s voice murmured. “You awake?”

“Yes,” he said. Or he tried to say yes. It came out as something of a mumble, and fear flooded through him. Adrenaline propelled him to his feet, wheeling in the darkened room. Dean. Flashlight. No TV, no lamps, no time. What time was it?

“It’s eleven forty-five,” Dean said quietly. He must have asked for the time out loud. “Power’s out. Obviously. It’ll probably be a couple of hours before we get it back. There’s water if you want to brush your teeth, or whatever, and we’re looking for the camp lanterns. If you give me a minute, I’ll get you some blankets and stuff and you can go right back to sleep.”

“Dean?” Sam’s voice called. “You want to cover the windows? Just in case?”

Sam was awake. Castiel hadn’t known that Sam was up, he hadn’t know the power had gone out... he hadn’t known where Dean was. He had been unaware for twenty-three minutes. It could have been much longer. He could have been unaware for hours and Dean could have _left the house_.

“You okay?” Dean was asking. “You tired?”

“I slept,” he said. Horrified.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed. He sounded amused. “Happens to the best of us. Here, sit down. I’ll get the couch ready.”

“Dean?” Another flashlight was making its way toward the couch, followed by Sam’s voice and the crinkle of plastic. “I got the two lanterns from the closet, and we have some of that window liner stuff left from last year. You want to just put it up overnight, take it out in the morning?”

“It’s not that cold,” Dean pointed out. “We’re not gonna lose that much heat overnight.”

“It’s below freezing,” Sam said. “And the temperature in here’s only going to fall.”

“Fine, yeah, whatever you want.” Dean swung his flashlight around, skimming over the couch and then flicking back toward Sam’s feet. “I’ll come hold a flashlight for you once I get the couch made up for Cas.”

“Seriously?” Sam sounded skeptical.

“Shut up,” Dean muttered. “Give me one of those lanterns and go play with your plastic.”

“Whatever you say.” It was Sam’s turn to sound amused, but Castiel found he couldn’t really care. He wasn’t sleeping on the couch.

“Dean,” he said. He was relieved when his voice came out sounding steadier than he felt. “What can I do to help?”

“You can let me make you a place to sleep,” Dean said, “and then you can lie down and relax. I’ll get you –”

“No,” Castiel said.

Dean stopped, and Castiel hoped for his sake that Sam wasn’t listening from the kitchen. Dean would be easier to deal with if he wasn’t facing off with someone in front of his brother. “No, what?” Dean asked. He’d already lowered his voice, as though he could anticipate the argument they were about to have.

“No,” Castiel repeated. “I’m not sleeping on the couch.”

For a moment, Dean just stood there. Then, to Castiel’s surprise, he shrugged. “Okay,” he said. “You gonna keep me warm upstairs?”

He rapidly readjusted his plan. “I suppose that depends,” he said, making his tone as light as he could. Which, considering the circumstances and particularly the time, wasn’t very light at all. But he made the effort. “Are you going to let me under the covers tonight?”

“No,” Dean said, but he sounded like he was smiling. “Maybe. Depends how long the power’s off.”

It would be off for a long time, but Castiel didn’t see any good that could come of letting Dean know that now. He was content, for the moment, to have Dean’s agreement that they would spend the rest of the night together. He would keep a careful watch. Dean couldn’t be allowed to go anywhere without him.

“Here,” Dean added, stepping close enough to take his hand. He pressed something into it, and Castiel closed his fingers around the thin plastic barrel. “Diode light. Runs forever, killer light. Fits in your pocket.”

It was also, Castiel learned, only the first of a series of emergency lights Dean and Sam kept on hand. There were also self-charging flashlights, small camping lanterns, large camping lanterns, and two headlamps. “Can’t beat ’em when you’re climbing around looking for something and you need both hands,” Dean said. “Also, Sam’s doubles as an overhead.”

“Ha ha,” Sam said. Dean’s brother was very tall. “A little help here?”

Castiel mostly watched while Dean helped Sam line the downstairs windows. Dean did put up a brief fight about the upstairs windows: “Really, Sam? We’re just gonna have to take all this down tomorrow.”

“And in the meantime,” Sam countered, “we won’t freeze. You’re welcome.”

Dean had filled the tub upstairs after he’d taken a shower, and he showed Castiel how to flush the toilet with limited water bailed from one to the other. He promised to show him how to light the gas stovetop in the morning, if the power still wasn’t back. “Can make great toast over an open flame,” Dean joked.

Castiel didn’t much care about toast, but he did care that Dean was still relaxed and talking to him. This was not particularly common so close to a moment of intervention. He did whatever it took, of course, but he still wasn’t looking forward to fighting with Dean. The longer that moment could be staved off – for whatever reason – the better, as far as he was concerned.

Sam didn’t say anything about the empty couch. He didn’t say anything when they all gathered upstairs, other than, “First one up when the power comes back turns off the lights. Especially if you’re already awake.”

This last was said with extra weight, but if there was a meaningful look to go with it then Castiel didn’t know what it was intended to convey. Dean just grumbled something about getting all the lights already. Castiel didn’t understand until later that neither of them were able to remember which lights had been on when the power went off and which hadn’t. If he’d realized, he could simply have told them. But he didn’t, and it was probably for the best.

It meant that Dean wasn’t reminded of how different he was just before they crawled into bed together. Which in turn meant that Castiel was allowed under the covers – “only because it’s gonna get cold,” Dean said – and if his hand brushed against Dean’s shoulder, Dean didn’t push it away. So Castiel left his hand there, in the warm shadow of Dean’s body, while he listened to Dean’s breathing even out and watched the darkness settle into the room.

It was quieter without electricity. No heat humming through the vents and no running water, of course. But no cooling rattle from the refrigerator downstairs, either, and no standby buzz from the stereo or the TV. No illumination from the clock beside Dean’s bed. No “charging” light from the phone or “connected” light from the computer.

Nothing except Dean breathing beside him, and the steady brilliance of an unmistakable soul.

**10 December**

“Look,” he heard Dean say. “You don’t have to entertain him. I’m only gonna be gone for half an hour; he’ll probably sleep right through anyway. He hasn’t gotten a good night’s rest in days.”

“I’m not saying I don’t want him here,” Sam’s voice replied, as Castiel jerked upright. Grey watery light was filtering in through the window, but Dean’s clock was still dark and the air across his face and hands had a distinct chill to it. “I’m just saying, leave him a note or something. He’s not gonna want to wake up and find you gone.”

“Dean,” he said aloud. He was about to lose Dean. They were all about to lose Dean. If nothing else went right this morning, he would find a way to do this one thing. “Dean!”

Dean appeared in the doorway a second later, bundled up in flannel and denim and looking very much alive. “Hey, Cas,” he said easily. “I’m just gonna go over and check on some friends. They’re probably fine, but everything’s out: phones, cable, passenger pigeons, you name it. I’ll make sure they’re okay, be back in half an hour.”

“No,” Castiel said sharply. He was already out of bed, taking half the covers with him and not caring. “I’m coming with you.”

Dean just looked at him, fearless and so foolishly human. “Cas,” he said. “It’s just up the road. I can still get to work on time if I go right now. Why don’t you –”

“No,” Castiel repeated. He fumbled the blankets in his haste, looking around for his shoes.

“Wake up,” Dean continued, as if he hadn’t spoken. “Have something to eat. I’ll swing back this way afterwards and give you a ride into town.”

“No,” Castiel snapped. “I’m not tired, I’m not hungry, and I’m not waiting here while you go flying down icy roads in that deathtrap of a car.”

Dean blinked at him. “Wow, Cas. Tell me how you really feel.”

“I don’t care about your stupid job,” Castiel said, the frustration spilling out of him uncontrollably. How could he possibly have fallen asleep? What if Dean had just driven off? Would it have been Sam who woke him, all unknowing: _Dean isn’t back yet,_ he would have said, _but I have to go to work. I’m sure he won’t be much longer... you okay here alone?_

“I don’t care about your schedule, or your electricity, or your isolated friends,” he continued. He could hear his voice rising despite his best efforts to feel nothing. “All I care about right now is that I’m here for a reason, and if I fuck it up because of your stupid smile and your sinfully comfortable bed, then exactly fifty-three minutes from now there will be no one left on earth to forgive me for it.”

He wouldn’t be okay alone. Nothing would ever be okay again.

He was peripherally aware that Sam had just decided he was the second most crazy person Dean had ever brought home – which made him wonder which of the high school girlfriends Sam had hated the most – but the only one he could look at right now was Dean.

Dean, who had the audacity to _smirk_ at him. “I know,” he said. “Right? Memory foam mattress. Best thing since classic cars.”

He couldn’t explain the fury that burned inside him, but he had a creeping suspicion that it was founded in fear. “Your car,” he said coldly, “will not survive the morning.”

“Okay,” Dean said, straightening up. “Well, now we’re really freaking Sam out, so. Get your shoes and let’s go.”

“Dean,” Sam said, and Castiel could hear how he tried to keep his voice level.

“We’re fine, Sam.” Dean jerked his head at the hall, but he still had to pass Sam to reach the stairs. “It’s fine. Cas can ride with me; it’s no big deal.”

“Dean,” Sam repeated. This time he sounded more firm. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Does no one want me to get to work this morning?” he demanded. “Yes, fine, what?”

“Alone,” Sam insisted.

“No,” Castiel snapped. “You’re not leaving my sight.”

“You’re acting like a creepy stalker,” Dean informed him. “Which, okay, not out of character for you.” He seemed to take that into consideration, then said, “Yeah. Actually. We’ll just stand over here. Where you can see us. Stay,” he added, looking entirely too amused by the situation.

Castiel folded his arms and stayed, not taking his eyes off of Dean.

Dean let Sam pull him away from the door, but he balked at being hustled into Sam’s room. “This is fine,” he muttered, not looking back at Castiel. “What, Sam.”

“What,” Sam hissed, “is he doing? He sounds like a crazy person!”

“He had a tough night,” Dean whispered. “Give him a break.”

“He had a tough night?” Sam echoed incredulously. “That’s your excuse? Dean, you know he’s coming across obsessed and borderline _abusive_ , right?”

“You liked him fine last night,” Dean retorted. “Cut him some slack this morning.”

Sam was barely bothering to keep his voice down anymore. “Last night he wasn’t threatening your car and calling everything you do stupid. You’re just gonna let him bully you into doing whatever he wants?”

“Sam.” Dean wasn’t joking now, and the way Sam’s expression set said he recognized the big brother voice. “Cas is a good guy. He woke up a little freaked out and you gotta let it go. Trust me on this.”

Sam didn’t look like Dean was the one he mistrusted. “If you’re fine with it,” he said skeptically.

“I’m totally fine with it,” Dean told him. “I’m more than fine. And now I’m gonna be fine on the way to the Millers, and I’m gonna take Cas, because he has nothing better to do than follow me around and save my sorry butt from certain boredom and potential hypothermia if we don’t get the heat back soon.”

He’d raised his voice enough to make it clear Castiel was meant to overhear. “Ready?” Dean added, glancing over his shoulder. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Sam watched them both while they gathered up their things, and it was hard to tell who he thought deserved his attention more. He told Dean to be safe, to watch out for downed power lines and tree limbs and work crews with chainsaws. He told Castiel to stay warm, and he didn’t sound completely grudging when he said it. But it was Dean he clapped on the shoulder through his heavy winter coat, and it was Castiel who got the wary glances when Sam thought he wasn’t looking.

“Bye, Mom,” Dean called, as they headed out to the car. “Put the freezer stuff on the porch if the power’s not back on before you go!”

“Get gas!” Sam shouted back. “Before everyone who ran their generator all night beats you to it!”

Dean waved, and it struck Castiel – distantly, because most of his attention was currently devoted to monitoring Dean – that although they sounded like they were mocking each other, they were in fact conveying useful information. He supposed, if he were more generous (or if he cared) he might grant something similar about Sam’s warning to Dean in the hallway at the top of the stairs. They were just looking out for each other.

Which was all well and good, he thought, irritated that his line of sight was interrupted when he ducked down to get into the car with Dean. Except that he was trying to accomplish something here, and their completely uninformed attempts to do the same were getting in his way.

“Cas,” Dean said quietly, not looking at him as he started the car. “I’m guessing you think there’s gonna be an accident.”

There is, he thought. There will be.

“I can’t tell you that,” he said. “I’m – it’s not allowed.”

Dean snorted. “Oh, but this is?” he said, putting a hand on the back of Castiel’s seat as he backed the car around. “You can come down here and pluck me out of the jaws of death, but you can’t tell me not to get in the car? Seriously, why don’t we just go park it somewhere? Heck, I could go to work if it comes to that. The Millers are fine for a couple of hours.”

“No,” Castiel said, sharp and adamant and possibly a little bit panicked. He didn’t know where the fear came from, but it wasn’t helping him do his job. He’d never had to deal with this before.

He didn’t like it.

“Why not?” Dean pressed.

“Because I know this!” he burst out. “I know what’s going to happen, Dean! You doing something different won’t change the result, but it will change the way it happens, and I’m not prepared to spend the next forty-two minutes guessing how you’re going to die!”

“Huh,” Dean said. It was an inexpressive and (now) highly frustrating habit of his. “So you’re really going to save my life. I kept thinking maybe that was a metaphor or something.”

Castiel felt his jaw clench. “This isn’t the time for doubts, Dean.”

He knew Dean thought that having Castiel in his car, in his bed, should be enough to get him a free pass when it came to doubts. He didn’t care. He was surprised that Dean didn’t say it aloud, though.

The car ride was excruciating. He spent the entire time staring at Dean, aware of every second that passed – every heartbeat, every breath – and he could feel Dean growing ever more uncomfortable. He was vaguely sorry about that. Another unfamiliar reaction that he tried not to acknowledge.

When they turned down the driveway across from a mailbox marked “Miller,” Dean said, “I guess trying to get you to stay in the car is a lost cause, huh?”

His voice was loud in the oppressive silence, until then broken only by the crunching of freshly fallen snow beneath the tires, the occasional hiss of the windshield wipers as Dean tried to clear the road spray, and the click of the turn signal as they made their way through a world muffled by layers of icy white.

“You will not leave my sight,” Castiel said flatly.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “You said. But if it’s going to happen in the car –”

“I could be wrong,” Castiel interrupted.

Dean gave him a look that said, very clearly, _you’ve got to be kidding._

Castiel just stared back at him, and Dean grumbled to himself as he parked the car in the middle of a mostly cleared driveway. The hasty plowing effort left something to be desired in terms of accessibility, but it was apparently Castiel who still held his attention. “Now he tells me,” Dean was muttering.

Castiel said very little during Dean’s visit with the Millers. He thought Dean was half relieved because he didn’t say anything “crazy,” and half irritated because he was there at all and he really did look like there was a problem. He knew he wasn’t blending, and he knew it no longer mattered. He was where he wanted to be, and he was staying until it was finished. One way or the other.

When they were back in the car, all Dean said was, “We’re going back a different way.”

Castiel didn’t answer, because with less than seven minutes to go it didn’t make a single bit of difference.

“That okay?” Dean added.

“I don’t care which way you go,” Castiel told him. “But if you value your reputation, you will get out of sight of this house and find a place to pull off the road for at least thirty seconds. No more than sixty.”

He saw Dean raise his eyebrows, but he did as he was told. With snow piled along the sides of the roads and another inch and a half that had yet to see a plow, the side of the road wasn’t particularly safe. But Dean put on all his lights and pulled carefully into a half-cleared space near a break in someone’s fence, saying only, “If we get stuck here, it’s gonna be bad news for our doomsday timetable.”

Castiel reached over and fisted a hand in his coat. “Please kiss me now,” he said, as evenly as he could.

Dean must have heard the desperation despite his best effort, because he leaned into Castiel’s grip and pressed their mouths together. It might have been gentler if Castiel hadn’t pushed back, hungry for reassurance, for some sign that he had been heard. That he had been _seen_.

And Dean gave it to him, lifting a hand to his face and letting it slide into his hair. That hand cupped his head, keeping their kisses deep and deliberate even as Castiel tried to drag him closer. Dean used his other arm to brace himself against the seat, and Castiel counted off the seconds in his mind.

When he got to fifty-nine, he jerked away, gasping for breath and struggling to clear his vision. The cold was making his eyes tear, which was inconvenient and ridiculous on top of not being able to breathe. “Drive,” he growled. If it came out as little more than a whisper then he really had no idea what was wrong with him.

“Cas,” Dean began. “I –”

“Drive,” Castiel snapped. “Away from here, down the road, I don’t care. If I tell you what happens you’ll change it, and I can _fix_ this. I can fix what I see. But you have to let it happen.”

Dean fell back into his seat and stared out the windshield for a second a half. Then, without a word, he hit the turn signal and coaxed the car back onto the road. Castiel could feel the tires slipping as they struggled to gain traction on loose snow and heavy slush. He felt the car slide a little, saw Dean’s hand clench on the wheel.

Then the tires caught and the car rolled smoothly away from the shoulder. The road had tracks in it from other vehicles that had passed since the the last plow, and Dean’s car found traction in their wake. Castiel saw his shoulders relax, fingers easing. Dean had driven on roads like these dozens, hundreds of times. He knew what he was doing.

He was doing the speed limit. He couldn’t possibly have expected the tree limb that cracked, gunshot-loud as the split struck and widened under the weight of accumulated ice. The branch peeled away from the trunk and Dean saw it – Castiel knew he saw it starting to fall. Up ahead, off to one side, no threat to the driving lane if it hadn’t fallen into the power lines, stretching, pulling, snapping right where they crossed the road.

Taking the pole down with them. Yanking the lines down – dead, Castiel thought, no power to them, but Dean couldn’t know that. All he saw was a tangled mess crashing toward the road and he wasn’t stupid. He knew they weren’t going to stop in time: not on this road, and not in this car. He did exactly what he’d done the night before.

Castiel had a single heartbeat and all of eternity to decide as Dean dragged the wheel to the right, pumped the brakes, and tried to steer out of a skid instead of into it. The car was out of control. It would never hit the lines, slamming into this tree first, then that one. Dean would take the brunt of the impact, driving as he did to protect his passenger first, and Castiel could either cushion him or cushion the car.

A week ago he would have chosen Dean without a thought. That was what he did: he saved people. He didn’t interfere in any other aspect of their lives.

But Dean loved his terrible car, even if Castiel wasn’t feeling particularly warm towards it at the moment. If he walked away from a crash that wrecked a vehicle this heavy there would be questions. So in that heartbeat, Castiel stretched out instead of in. The tree was bruising in his effort not to shatter it. The next tree was only moderately gentler, but the car was wallowing in snow and the sickening crunch of their own inertia finally brought it to a halt.

He reached for Dean immediately. He was unconscious, concussed, already losing blood after slamming his head into the window. It was cold out here and the road was deserted. Alone, the hypothermia Dean had joked about would set in long before he was aware again. He wouldn’t wake up.

It wasn’t a bad way to die, all things considered. If Castiel had cared about such things.

Dean was already moaning under his touch. His head would hurt for a few minutes; there was nothing Castiel could do about that. Nothing except let him sleep, and he wasn’t willing to wait. He needed to know Dean was responsive and mentally competent as soon as possible.

In case he’d missed something.

“Dean,” he said, staring intently at the blood he hadn’t been able to clear away. He could get it later. Cranial injuries were difficult, and Dean had suffered some internal damage before Castiel ran a hand over his stomach and let it settle just above his hip. “You need to wake up.”

Dean made an inarticulate mumble, but his eyes were shifting under their lids. He was aware on some level. Every system was working, and his brain was directing them exactly as it should. The connection between body and soul was good – Castiel just needed to know that the one could still access the other. Consciously.

“Dean,” he insisted, moving his free hand to Dean’s face. “Come back.”

Something crushing and vast settled into his chest the moment he realized Dean was squinting up at him. “Hey,” Dean’s voice rasped. His lips twitched: whether in pain or in amusement, it was difficult to say. “Angel.”

“Dean.” He didn’t realize he’d said it again until the name was out, and once wasn’t enough. “Dean –”

“You look –” Dean started talking at the same time, and he didn’t stop. Not for Castiel or for his own head, which was clearly slowing him down. “Like you just... saw a ghost.

“Oh,” he added. “Wait.”

This time it was definitely supposed to be a smile.

“You’re not a ghost,” Castiel said quietly. He went over every part of Dean for the seventh time. Physically, mentally, spiritually. So far all he had come up with was a slowly abating headache and a severe shock reaction that healing wasn’t going to help. It was possible that the healing had caused it.

“Are you?” Dean mumbled, trying to shift under his hand.

“No,” Castiel said. “Please don’t move.”

“Why not?” Dean was blinking up at him now, eyes clear and focused in the reflected light of the snow. The engine had banged to a halt and the car was starting to cool, but Castiel knew it would start again without incident. When one of them was capable of doing it.

“Because,” he said, “I can’t. Your head will only hurt more if you try to push me off and fail. Give me a minute, and I’ll be able to let you up.”

“Wait,” Dean said, and if the word wasn’t quite as crisp as it should have been he still knew what they were talking about. “Why can’t you move?”

“I can move,” he said evenly. “But it will hurt a lot, and I’m not ready.”

“Why?” Dean asked. He managed to get a hand free, lifting it to where Castiel’s rested against his face and hovering, like he was afraid to touch. “Can I do anything?”

“No,” Castiel said. “I’m not – I’m not... as you see me. Exerting my actual self with deliberately depleted grace and then trying to make this body function naturally is somewhat – challenging.”

“This isn’t what you really look like,” Dean said. His fingers settled over Castiel’s carefully, thumb rubbing against the skin of his hand when Castiel didn’t protest.

Castiel couldn’t tell if he was trying to be helpful, to distract Castiel as a human might be distracted, or if that was really the thing that stuck out the most in his mind. “No,” Castiel said. “That would be impractical.”

“What do you look like?” Dean asked.

Castiel closed his eyes. He could feel Dean starting to shiver beneath him, knew that he was going to need more than a cold car and a weary angel very soon. He drew whatever he had left as close as he could and tried to make his human body do what he told it to.

His muscles protested, screaming long and loud as he dragged himself upright. Dean’s touch followed as he went, one hand still on his and the other bracing his shoulder in a clumsy effort to help steady him. Dean was weaker than he was, but somehow the solicitude made him try harder.

“What can I do?” Dean was asking. “You look rough, man.”

“I’ll be fine,” Castiel said. It didn’t come out as loudly as he would have liked, but he could see and move and, with any luck, reassure Dean. All like this.

“Not what I asked,” Dean muttered, turning as best he could to survey their circumstances from inside the car. His tremors were visible now, Castiel noted. His hand shook when he rested it absently on the wheel.

“Let me drive,” Castiel said abruptly.

Dean snorted. “First off, no,” he said, turning around in his seat again. “And second, I don’t think we’re getting out of here with anything short of a tow. Neither of us are in any shape to push, and I’m not sure it’d be enough even if we were.”

“Yes,” Castiel said. “I can drive us out. Just...”

“Seriously,” Dean said, eyeing him with obvious concern. “You look worse than I feel.”

“I’m not,” Castiel said irritably. He was fine. The moment had passed, Dean would live, and that should feel like a victory. Not a revelation. Not a prayer whispered to the sky of love and obedience and divine supplication.

Nothing he did on his own had ever felt this good.

“What about this?” Dean said, suddenly in his space and off balance and falling against him as he reached around Castiel. In the jumble of confusion as they tried and failed to steady each other, Castiel didn’t realize what he was going for until it was too late.

Dean’s fingers closed around his hidden grace and _lifted_.

Castiel’s head hit the back of the seat and the car exploded into light and divinity.

By the time he knew what had happened, the bottle was empty. He was complete. And every angel on the continent – possibly the planet – had to know where he was. He didn’t know when they would start coming. But he knew from the very first that he and Dean couldn’t stay where they were.

“We have to go,” Castiel said, pushing Dean away as gently as he could. Which was considerably harder than it had been a few short minutes before. The all too human desperation he had felt was nothing compared to the unshakable certainty that the heavenly host was watching his every move.

“What _was_ that?” Dean demanded. He, too, looked unexpectedly better for the intervention. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Castiel said, for what had to be the third time. “Please get out of the driver’s seat so that I may take your place.”

“Who taught you that saying ‘please’ would get you anything you want?” Dean asked. When he saw Castiel’s look of not understanding, he added, “Because they were right. You’re really gonna drive us out of this? What happened to the trees?”

“I hit them,” Castiel said, opening his door into the snow. “You should find that your car is intact, but I’m hardly an expert, so tell me if anything about it seems off.”

“Off?” Dean repeated. He had climbed out of the driver’s side, but he was hanging on the door like he wasn’t quite sure his legs would support him all the way around the car. “You mean other than the fact it just avoided power lines and a utility pole, both of which we should have been headed straight for? Or the fact that it went through two trees on the way to here, yet looks like – well, as close to new as it ever does in the winter. I have to wash the salt off every day.”

“Yes,” Castiel said, stepping up behind him. “Other than that.”

“What else is there?” Dean wanted to know.

“Nothing,” Castiel said. For that one brief moment, he was more than content to let Dean pretend.

“Cas,” Dean said quietly. He didn’t step away from the door. When he lifted his gaze to Castiel’s, there was a flicker of light in that searching expression. “You have wings.”

Castiel forgot to breathe. He reached out, chasing the light, and Dean didn’t flinch. He just stood there and let Castiel wash away the rest of his injuries. The blood went with them. The shock was still trying to set in, but this time the full force of healing seemed to ease some of the symptoms.

“You weren’t kidding,” Dean said. He hadn’t looked away, though now his hands on the door looked more like an afterthought than anything. “You have crazy supernatural powers.”

“I’m an angel of the lord,” Castiel told him. “It comes with some perks.”

Dean cracked a smile at that. “And I thought my family was close to God.”

No one was close to God anymore, but Castiel had no intention of sharing his bitterness. Let Dean keep whatever faith he had. It wasn’t anyone’s place to take that from him.

“So, uh.” Dean was still staring, eyes flicking occasionally to parts of Castiel’s form that he shouldn’t be able to perceive. “You said part of you was, like, sleeping, right?”

“It isn’t now,” Castiel said. “And that they will feel. If that was your next question.”

“The other... angels.” Dean looked like he was rapidly coming to terms with something he hadn’t bothered to accept before. “Are they gonna be after you?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel said. He supposed it depended on whether or not they had anything better to do, but he didn’t think this was the kind of answer that would be helpful to Dean.

“Okay,” Dean said slowly. He did seem to be frowning, now. “Well. You said you can get the car out of here?”

Castiel gave the driver’s seat a pointed look, and Dean held up his hands in surrender. He didn’t waver when he did it. He stepped away from the door and let Castiel take his place while he walked around to the other side. Castiel waited until Dean had kicked the snow off his boots and slammed the door shut behind him before he brought the car back to life.

He was aware of Dean giving him sideways looks as he coaxed the car back out on the road. A few minutes ago, maneuvering the car would have taken up enough of his own attention that he could ignore it, but no longer. “Yes?”

“So, the...” Dean paused. “The wings aren’t really there?”

He could almost hear Dean squinting. “What exactly do you see?” Castiel asked, not looking at him. Appearing human had at least allowed him to pretend some semblance of companionship. If Dean could, for whatever reason, see past that now, then Castiel had lost him as a friend.

As he’d known he would, he reminded himself. He’d never been able to stay with any of the people he saved. It wasn’t why he’d sought them out, for one thing, and he had no leeway to get attached. There would be questions, anomalies, and if he ever tried to explain he had no doubt the demands would begin in earnest. Better to move on.

“You glow,” Dean said bluntly. “Like, a lot. Like when that bottle thing exploded in your room – that’s what you look like now. And you’ve got –” He gestured incomprehensibly. “Huge, glowy angel wings. Folded up against your back.

“Do you always look like this?” he added, before Castiel could reply. “I don’t know if I want you to say yes, which would mean it’s just me who’s changed, or no, because that would mean everyone can see it and I’m guessing you can’t stick around because wow, that’s distracting.”

“I can’t stick around,” Castiel echoed. “I did what I came to do, and I will leave. Before I put you and your family in greater danger.”

“Whoa, wait,” Dean said. “First off, that wasn’t the question; I wasn’t trying to get you to take off. Please don’t take off. I mean, at least... damn it.”

Indiscretion, Castiel thought irrelevantly.

“I’m doing exactly what I told myself I wouldn’t,” Dean said with a sigh. He slouched back against the seat, seemingly unimpressed that Castiel had not only driven the car out of the woods but was also retracing their route without any direction. “I said I wouldn’t ask you to stay. I don’t expect you to stay. I just – I don’t want you to think I want you to leave.”

He didn’t want to leave, and he was trying not to think about it.

“Thanks, by the way.” Dean’s abrupt gratitude sounded forced, even a little sad. “I appreciate you, you know. Saving my life and everything. I guess death listens to angels.”

Rarely, Castiel thought.

Dean lapsed into silence, and only then did Castiel realize he hadn’t responded. Having the rest of his senses come online with unexpected suddenness and clarity made it difficult to remember the ways in which he was expected to interact. “I’m sorry,” he said aloud. “I’ve been thinking my answers instead of saying them; I realize that’s not helpful. I’m not ignoring you.”

Far from it, he added silently, and then sighed. Of course Dean wouldn’t hear.

“Just the opposite,” he said aloud. He didn’t take his eyes off of the road. Dean’s soul was, in either form, too overwhelming for him to take in right now. “I’m wishing I didn’t have to go, thinking how rarely this happens, wondering if you would push me away if I tried to kiss you now, like this.”

There was the briefest moment of silence. It felt too long, but then Dean said, “I might. I mean, I like to live on the edge, but that would take distracted driving to a whole new level.”

Castiel tried not to hope. “I would pull over before I attempted anything complicated.”

Dean smiled when he spoke, and that was really answer enough. “Man, I want to see you, complicated, and kissing all together. Yesterday.”

With the snow lining the roads, there wasn’t anywhere to pull off. “You should know,” he said, doing it anyway, “that what you call time travel is really just a different way of perceiving the moments you occupy.”

“You could do it,” Dean said. “Couldn’t you. You could actually make it yesterday.”

“No,” Castiel said. “But I could make us perceive yesterday instead of today.”

“The only thing yesterday had on today,” Dean told him, “was you falling asleep on my shoulder. Which sounds sappy, I know, but there was this moment when I looked at you and I thought... I really like this guy.”

This guy. But Dean had known what he was, even yesterday. And he had still thought –

“Still waiting for the complicated show and tell,” Dean added.

Castiel was still staring at him, trying to see past everything he already knew. It would be a long time before he could suppress his grace again. He could behave as humans did about as convincingly as before... but he couldn’t ignore the desire to heal, the urge to fly, or the need to love.

He was and always would be one of his father’s children.

“Cas,” Dean prompted. His voice was surprisingly gentle. “Remember how I can’t read your mind?”

“I’m not human,” Castiel blurted out.

Dean just shrugged. “The wings are hot,” he said. “Can we kiss now?”

It was a request Castiel couldn’t refuse.

Kissing Dean was different: it should have been less significant, relative to his increased awareness, but somehow it was more. The urge to be, stay, get closer was inexplicably magnified. It should have vanished with Dean’s salvation; there was no longer a need to keep constant watch over him. Yet Castiel felt _something_ , some need he couldn’t explain, and since it wasn’t him he could only attribute it to Dean himself.

Dean reacted to his grace in an inhuman way.

“Mmm,” Dean mumbled against his mouth. His coat was still cool from the outside, despite the heat once again running in the car. His skin wasn’t cold, and his hands were gentle and kind on Castiel’s face. “Tell me if –” The words were momentarily swallowed in the kissing, but he kept going. “If there’s anything I shouldn’t do.”

There were many things Dean shouldn’t do, but Castiel didn’t expect him to try any of them. Most of them. Developing an emotional attachment to Castiel might be the exception.

He shook his head anyway. He had no doubt the tiny movement was clear, given their current position.

“Cas,” Dean whispered, breath warm as one hand slid around behind his neck. “I’m asking if I can touch your wings.”

No. Just because he could see them didn’t mean he could feel them. They weren’t here the way Dean was.

What he heard himself say was, “Try.”

The hand that was on his neck slid down over his back, Dean easing closer so he could drape his arm over Castiel’s shoulder. And there was something: for all that his hand went right through Castiel’s wing – of course – Castiel could feel it happening. He wasn’t just aware of it. He felt it, as though the person climbing practically into his lap was wrapping his soul around Castiel as well. As though something in him recognized something in Castiel.

Whatever Dean had done to make his dormant grace glow, albeit briefly, was now making his wings itch.

“More,” he gasped, when Dean’s arm withdrew to brace itself against his shoulder.

All of Dean followed, sitting back and studying Castiel with disconcerting intensity. “Do you feel that?” Dean asked. “My hand goes right through them.”

“I feel it,” he whispered, his voice getting away from him as he tried to regulate his breathing. Neither of which he needed, neither of which should be affected by Dean’s proximity. “I like it.”

Dean considered that without taking his eyes off of him. “Does it turn you on?” he asked bluntly. “I mean, you look kind of... You looked pretty calm when you got in the car. Now you don’t.”

“It doesn’t turn me on,” Castiel said, trying not to reach for him again. Trying not to drag Dean’s hands over his shoulders and tell him, in no uncertain terms, to keep doing what he’d been doing. “It’s not a sexual response.”

“Okay,” Dean said. He was still eyeing Castiel with a look of combined curiosity and concern. “Well, you’re the angel.”

He wouldn’t ask again. He shouldn’t have asked at all. He needed to make sure Dean was safe, to get him home where he could warm up and wait out the shock. Alert someone that Dean would be taking the day off from work, that was important. Let his family know. Maybe not in that order.

It was possible that his priorities weren’t in the most logical order right now. He hadn’t given much thought to what he would do with Dean after he’d saved him. He’d never needed to before. His self-assigned mission complete, he’d simply moved on.

He should do that now. But Dean wasn’t safe, not yet. Not completely. He still needed to be returned to his home. He needed –

“Hi,” Dean murmured, sliding both arms over his shoulders this time and letting the movement carry him completely into Castiel’s space. “I think you just gave me permission to grope you.”

He was sure he hadn’t done anything of the sort. He was equally sure he wouldn’t mind if he had, especially if Dean took him up on it. Dean’s face was close enough that Castiel could feel the warmth returning to his cheeks, one of his knees pressed up against Castiel’s thigh, and all he could concentrate on were those hands.

It had been a long time since he’d last been able to fly. It made him easier to find, more easily tracked by his own kind, though of course less so by humans. Humans were always suspicious of those who left no discernible trail. It was more practical for many reasons for him to acquire a car and travel as they did.

But it wasn’t as good. It wasn’t him, and it wasn’t free. He’d never associated his life with freedom until he’d started to give up the use of his wings for the sake of the people he saved.

He’d never associated his wings with physical pleasure until Dean’s fingers made them hum.

“You sure you’re not turned on?” Dean’s voice was rough in his ears but his soul was so bright that Castiel couldn’t open his eyes. He could feel his hands clenched in Dean’s coat, clutching him with the steering wheel digging into his side as he tried to turn into an embrace that was so much more important. He was breathing hard and it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that he had whimpered, but Dean’s _hands_.

“Please,” he breathed, trying not to moan. “More.”

“I can’t even touch you,” Dean whispered. He buried his face in Castiel’s neck, nosing his skin carefully while his fingers continue to trail through something he must see only as undefined light. “Not really.”

“I can feel you,” Castiel mumbled. Why wasn’t that enough? “What else matters?”

“I want to feel you,” Dean told his neck. “Something that’s really you. Is this you? Do you even look human? Is that a stupid question?”

“I can,” Castiel murmured. He shifted his wings higher, and without even looking he felt Dean press a primary flight feather back into place as it slid by. “I am.”

Dean must have seen his wings rise, but all he did was loosen his arms so that he could reach further toward the edges. It felt like... it felt almost like home, like a brother or a sister pressing their wings to his, and he knew that was impossible. He’d been alone longer than he’d realized if he had forgotten the feeling so completely that a human might remind him of it.

“I don’t want you to leave,” Dean whispered against his skin.

This he knew was unfair: Dean was taking advantage of his obvious preoccupation by handing him an impossible request. One that he thought, in the heat of the moment, Castiel might agree to. Castiel had used that trick many times.

“I must,” he said softly. Although he certainly wasn’t leaving as long as Dean planned to keep doing whatever he was doing.

“I know.” Dean sounded like he really did know. Castiel, to his own surprise, had a hard time convincing himself that was a good thing. “I just didn’t want you to think it wasn’t true.”

They weren’t even kissing, Castiel realized distantly. They were just sitting there, wrapped around each other as best they could manage in the front seat of Dean’s car, while Dean wove his hands through the manifestation of his grace that Castiel missed the most.

It felt, for just a moment, like he could close his eyes and know exactly what was true again. Like he could know only what was true, like those other harsh and angry revelations would be put aside. Like they could be unheard, unknown, and he could be the person he was made to be again.

Like somehow loving Dean was the answer to his prayers.

The road was completely quiet outside the car, and for a moment he thought he could hear Dean thinking. He couldn’t, he shouldn’t, but _what if we just drove?_ couldn’t be him. It couldn’t have occurred to him that they could just go, that he could just steal Dean from this place and drive, on and on until they ran out of land.

But it certainly wouldn’t have occurred to Dean. Dean already traveled enough, driving all day and still determined to return to his family each night. Castiel would never be able to take him away from that, even if it was in any way practical. Even if he thought that tying himself to a single human for their entire life would lead to anything but ruin.

“Okay,” Dean whispered in his ear. “It’s not working anymore, is it.”

“What,” Castiel murmured, fingers tightening instinctively. He had to let this man go.

“You were totally into this, like, thirty seconds ago,” Dean said quietly. “Now you’re... different. Do you get used to it, or something?”

“No,” Castiel said, except that the evidence was against him. “Perhaps. I don’t know; no one’s ever done it before.”

That made Dean stop, hands settling against his back. “Seriously?”

It was so spontaneous, so genuine, that Castiel felt his lips twitch. “Why do you think anyone would have touched my wings?”

“Because they’re awesome?” Dean said. “Because they’re kind of eye-catching? Because you’re an angel and what’s the point of having wings if you don’t get to use them for stuff, seriously.”

“I use them,” Castiel said. “Most people can’t see them.”

“I couldn’t see them before,” Dean said.

“They were suppressed before,” Castiel said. “I was diminished, so as to better blend in.” To hide, he thought. It wasn’t only practicality that led him to act native. There were a lot of people like him who would be watching for a burst of grace, a resurgence or even just a limited exertion... such a thing was to be used in service to their father, or not at all.

Never at their own behest. Never to alter something the creator had set in motion, never to interfere with the free will given to all of his most recent creations. Not to angels – they were too powerful – but to humans, to other animals, to the flora and fauna that their divinity had brought into the world.

“So,” Dean said slowly, as though it was just occurring to him. “You’re gonna have to stay out of sight. Or can you... you know, turn it off again? Put it back in the box, or whatever?”

“Dean.” He was smiling into Dean’s shoulder and he didn’t even know why but it was nice. He wanted to keep doing it. “Most people can’t see them.”

“Yeah, you said, but obviously –” Dean broke off. “Uh,” he said. “How many is most people?”

“Everyone,” Castiel said. Dean was stroking his back now, fingers moving under his wings and pressing into his coat. The sensation on his skin was muffled through layers of material, but his wings continued to warm wherever Dean’s hands moved. He felt like he had been cold for a very long time.

“Everyone except me?” Dean sounded skeptical.

“It’s possible that your family is an exception,” Castiel mumbled. He didn’t really want to remind Dean of his religious roots, given what he was doing and how he might feel compelled to look at Castiel if he really thought about it. Castiel would just as soon there was less thinking all around.

“Huh,” Dean said. He didn’t pull away. “But you think... the rest of the town, not so much?”

“They won’t see anything but what they’ve seen this past week,” Castiel said. Not that he had any reason to be around anyone other than Dean anymore, and even him for a vanishingly small amount of time. He could check out simply by leaving his key on the desk at the Three Birds, get in his own car, and disappear past the town line with no one the wiser.

No one except Dean. Dean, to whom he still owed a warm place to recover, perhaps another check of his car, and some kind of goodbye. He had promised.

“What about your angel friends?” Dean asked. “Can they see you?”

“They can always see me,” Castiel said. He didn’t protest the description of the other angels as “friends,” despite the fact that they certainly were not. Dean should not have to know that. “Now I am simply more noticeable than I was before.”

“What’s that gonna mean for your road trip?” Dean wanted to know. “Do you have to go invisible again before you head out? Or is it more important to get moving and worry about your cover later?”

“It isn’t easy to be... invisible,” Castiel said. He was never invisible, but sometimes he was harder to find than others. “I won’t be able to do it again for some time.”

“Oh.” Dean sounded upset by this, and when he spoke again it was clear he blamed himself. “Guess I kind of blew it for you, then.”

“Yes,” Castiel agreed. “And if you hadn’t, we might still be at the scene of the crash, neither of us yet able to drive and no cell service to call for assistance.”

“You said you’d be all right,” Dean said. “Eventually. I just didn’t – I mean. Sorry, man. I have this thing where I just do stuff and figure it’ll all work out. Sometimes it does. Sometimes I wish I’d just kept my stupid ideas to myself.”

“It has worked out,” Castiel pointed out. “I was able to heal you the rest of the way, and I’m more than well enough to drive. I can take you home.”

“Kind of rather you didn’t,” Dean muttered. “Except it’s only gonna get colder in here, and we don’t have enough gas to run the heat while we make out.”

This made him smile again. “We could go get gas. Sam did tell you to beat the rush.”

“Yeah,” Dean said. He still didn’t let go. “You promised you’d say goodbye.”

“Yes,” Castiel echoed.

“Uh, not to be selfish or anything.” Dean sounded uncomfortable. “But how much notice do I get? I mean, are you gonna drop me off at home, say goodbye, and disappear?”

He hesitated. He was trying not to think about the moment he drove away. “Not in your car,” he said at last.

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, not unless I’m in it,” he said. “Okay, so. I’ll at least have the ride back to your car to get used to the idea? And, like, tell you the stupid stuff I won’t be able to look you in the eye after I’ve said?”

Against his better judgment, Castiel said softly, “I think you should tell me now.”

“I think I love you,” Dean said. “I think I could see you coming to dinner at Mom’s house, making awkward conversation with Dad at church, and arguing with Sam about being a vegetarian, for like, the rest of forever. And I know that’s probably just because you’re leaving; it’s easy to imagine that stuff ’cause I’ll never really have to deal with it. But I’ve totally imagined it.”

“I’ve imagined you,” Castiel whispered. “On the road beside me. Saving people, helping things. Helping everyone. You already do it; it’s so easy to see you coming along, smoothing the way and making everything so much... more.”

“An angel’s emissary,” Dean murmured, and he sounded like he was smiling. “My dad might even approve of that.”

“I like your family,” Castiel said quietly. “You would not enjoy mine so much, I think.”

“Do you like them?” Dean asked. “Are they helping you?”

“They’re hunting me,” Castiel said. “This... this rebellious phase wasn’t supposed to last so long. They have moved beyond tolerance into active attempts at correction. I’m afraid they will not be kind when they finally catch up with me.”

“Wait,” Dean said. His embrace tightened, consciously or not, Castiel didn’t know. “Your family? They’re after you too? Isn’t anybody on your side?”

“They’re on the side of God and heaven,” Castiel said. “They believe that returning me to the fold is what’s best for all concerned. For myself, and for them. For our father.”

“What about for us?” Dean wanted to know. “What about the people you’re taking care of down here?”

“I’m interfering in the divine plan,” Castiel said. “We are not allowed to make the decisions I do. We are not allowed the responsibility. If every angel did exactly as they wished, chaos would ensue.”

“Don’t buy it,” Dean said. He didn’t even seem to think about it. “And I’m guessing you don’t either, since, hey, here you are. What made you walk away?”

“Lack of faith,” Castiel said softly.

“In what?” Dean asked. “’Cause from where I’m standing, it looks like you have plenty of faith in us. Otherwise why would you keep saving us?”

“I should have faith that my father will save the ones who need saving,” Castiel said.

“You don’t think your father cares,” Dean said bluntly. “So you stepped in. Congratulations. Growing up sucks.”

He buried his face in the shoulder of Dean’s coat, letting the rough fabric ground him in humanity again. In the cool scent of a jacket that was designed to trap heat, not absorb it. “You’re very irreverent,” he mumbled.

“I’m accessible,” Dean said, and he sounded like he was smiling. “They loved me at seminary because everyone else did. No one’s gonna listen to you talk about faith, hope, and love if they don’t want to listen to you period.”

“Do you always know what to say?” Castiel murmured. He wasn’t sure Dean could even understand him, but there wasn’t any other noise in the car.

“No.” Dean sounded suddenly serious. “No, Cas, I almost never know what to say. But you know what I’ve learned? This is like, my one piece of genuinely useful advice, so listen up.”

He smiled into Dean’s coat and lifted his head. Dean didn’t let him sit up, though, arms so close around him that he could only rest his cheek against Dean’s and wait. “I’m listening,” he said.

“Sometimes it’s important just to say something,” Dean said. “Even if you don’t know if it’s right or not. Sometimes especially when you don’t know if it’s right or not. Because it shows that you care. It shows that you’re willing to risk it. Better to do something you think is right than do nothing because you’re not sure.”

Castiel considered that. “Is that why you let me save you?” he said at last.

He could almost feel Dean frown. “Huh?”

“Most people are scared,” Castiel said. “Well, ‘most’ is perhaps not a significant number, given that I rarely tell anyone what I’m doing. But on the infrequent occasion when it has seemed appropriate, people usually react with either skepticism or fear. You showed neither.”

“Guess I just trust you,” Dean said flippantly.

“Is that true?” Castiel pressed. “Is that the answer? Because regardless of your chosen profession and your apparently genial nature, you do not actually strike me as a very trusting individual.”

Dean went very still, and Castiel got the impression that he had said something Dean didn’t want to hear. But if Dean wasn’t going to let him go then he didn’t care how uncomfortable this position must be for someone who couldn’t overlook the demands of their body at will. He would stay in this embrace as long as Dean allowed.

“Maybe,” Dean said at last. “I – I do trust people. To do their best. But people tell me a lot of stuff, Cas. Maybe... sometimes I think our best isn’t as good as I wish it was.”

“To wish for more is to hope that things can be different,” Castiel said quietly. “I do find that you are very hopeful.”

“Yeah, well.” There was a quiet moment. “Sometimes it’s easier to hope than others.”

“When I’m with you,” Castiel blurted out. “That’s one of those times.”

“Yeah,” Dean repeated. “Me too.”

There was really nothing to follow that. Dean’s constant presence continued to ease the loneliness to an extent that made his reawakened senses bearable: it was hard to hear so much more and yet so much less. The more that he heard was empty, it had to be, he couldn’t risk reaching out and revealing his location any more than he had already done. And so proportionately, the part of his awareness that was actually filled with people who noticed or cared about him had decreased significantly.

“If you’re not gonna disappear as soon as we get there,” Dean whispered, “maybe we could go home and eat something. Or I could eat something, and you could... hang out. Being awesome. Before you leave.”

It was unconscionable that he had kept Dean out here on the cold and icy roads so much longer than he’d meant to be there. Especially given the shock his body had suffered. “I would be pleased to have you somewhere more comfortable,” Castiel mumbled. He didn’t care how Dean took that: any interpretation was most likely true.

“You can have me anywhere you want,” Dean teased. The grin in his voice said that he hadn’t taken it seriously. It shouldn’t have disappointed Castiel, but it was too late to deny that it did.

“Then you should have food,” Castiel said, making another effort to sit up. Dean’s embrace finally eased, hands trailing through wings as they slid back to his shoulders. “And something –” His voice was suddenly hoarse with sensation, and he had to wait until Dean stopped moving. “Hot to drink,” he continued in a more normal tone.

“Sam’s teaching this morning,” Dean said. “He should be gone by now.”

Castiel frowned, uncertain why this mattered. “You should call him,” he guessed. “To let him know you’re all right.”

“He’ll assume.” Dean brushed it off. “If he’s not there, he won’t see you. He will see you, right? I mean, when he –” He gestured. “He’ll know what you are, now. My family will.”

“Maybe,” Castiel said. It was rarely an issue. “It’s not likely he’ll say anything, if he does.”

Dean snorted, gentle and amused and pressing his mouth to Castiel’s in rueful apology. “He will,” he said. “Believe me, Sam will say something. The last thing he’s worried about is what other people think of him.”

Castiel wasn’t sure this was true, but of course Dean knew his brother. He probably wouldn’t be around long enough to encounter Sam again, regardless. He would take Dean home, do his best to keep him there until he’d recovered, and then...

And then he didn’t want to think about it.

Dean disentangled them the rest of the way with remarkably little help from Castiel. On the other hand, he had been the one to climb across the seat, so maybe it wasn’t so strange. Castiel was reluctant to drive only because it was some acknowledgment that time continued to move, but if Dean could pull away then he would eventually have to accept that the moments kept turning over.

Dean turned the radio on – Castiel still hadn’t given him his iPod back – and when the second half of a Christmas song came to an end the station started to read its list of school closings. It made little impression on Castiel, but he noticed when Dean whistled. He hadn’t realized Dean was actually listening, and he wondered if he should have turned it up.

“That’s quite a list,” Dean said. “You think that’s all snow-related?”

The streets seemed relatively clear to Castiel, and he said so. They weren’t free of snow by any stretch, but they were more than passable. “Perhaps power outages have closed some of the schools?”

“Must have,” Dean agreed, frowning out at the road. They hadn’t seen another car since the crash. “Doesn’t happen much, since schools are right in the middle of town. If their power goes out at all, they’re the first to get it back.”

“Their power went out,” Castiel said.

He shouldn’t have said that, and he couldn’t even claim that it came out without thinking. It didn’t really matter anymore. Dean already knew what he was, and he so far seemed inclined not to ask questions. This time was no exception.

“Yeah?” Dean said, like it was nothing. “Guess it’s a good thing it’s Friday then. Give them extra time to get the lights back on.”

“You’re not curious,” Castiel said. And this time it was without thinking, this time he had no idea what prompted him to say it. Except that maybe he hadn’t just meant to impart information the first time – maybe it had been Dean’s attention he wanted all along. “Why don’t you care how I know things? How I do things? Why don’t you ask questions?”

“Why would I?” Dean sounded genuinely surprised. “It’s your business, Cas. You want to tell me, I’m listening, but I’m not gonna pry into stuff that makes you uncomfortable.”

Did it make him uncomfortable, he wondered? Why would Dean say that if he didn’t think it was true? Dean was unusually perceptive on many levels, but surely he couldn’t read someone who wasn’t even human. Castiel didn’t feel discomfort when he considered his own abilities.

“I’m not uncomfortable,” he said aloud.

“Okay,” Dean agreed. “So how do you know schools lost power? I’ve been with you since you woke up, and this is the first time you’ve been around so much as a radio. Do you sense stuff from a distance, or what?”

“No,” Castiel said. “Yes,” he amended, “but not this. I –”

He stopped abruptly. He had been stalking Dean through time. He knew what was happening in the town now because he had prepared for it, because he had looked both forward and back so as to be prepared for Dean’s most likely reaction when disaster hit. The snow was only the most visible sign of what had happened. The magnitude of last night’s storm would slowly become clear over the coming days and weeks, and it was all going to look much worse by tomorrow.

He found it hard to admit that to Dean.

“That’s why I thought you were uncomfortable,” Dean said into the sudden silence. “You don’t like telling me how much you know. Or at least, you don’t tell me, and you apologize every time I find out anyway.”

“I’m not uncomfortable for myself,” Castiel said slowly. He was only just realizing how much he cared what Dean thought of him. “I don’t like the idea that you might feel uncomfortable around me.”

“And you think me finding out that you know everything that’s ever happened to me might make me uncomfortable?” Dean sounded amused. “News flash, Cas. I live in a small town. Everyone here knows everything about me. They can’t predict my future quite as well as you, I’ll give you that. But my dad raised me to believe in stuff that other people think is just pretty rhymes and colored glass. I’ve been talking to angels my whole life.”

Castiel gave him a sharp glance, inevitable and perfectly safe given his awareness of the road. He looked back almost immediately, since he knew police rarely bought the “I don’t have to look” excuse when it came to distracted driving. Dean caught the brief stare nonetheless.

“Not in person,” he said. “I know you said – well, maybe you thought I’d seen another angel or something, I don’t know. But if I have, they didn’t exactly leave their card. So as far as I know, all my conversations until you have been one-sided. Doesn’t mean I don’t think they were real.”

“You questioned them,” Castiel said. He was sure of it.

Given Dean’s startled silence, he hadn’t expected to have his argument so neatly sidestepped.

“I question faith,” Dean said at last. “Because faith that isn’t questioned doesn’t mean anything. I don’t question you because you’re just a guy. You’re allowed to keep stuff to yourself if you want.”

“I don’t want to,” Castiel said. He didn’t dare look at Dean again, because if Dean understood what he didn’t say then he didn’t know how else to slow this down: this inevitable slide into everything he knew he had to lose. “I want to tell you things. Sometimes I’m not sure if I want to tell you just to see you care, or so that I can ask forgiveness from someone who might actually be able to give it.

“Sometimes,” he added, before Dean could answer or he could think better of it, “I want to tell you because I think maybe if someone understood what I’m doing, I wouldn’t be so alone.”

Dean’s voice was just barely loud enough to hear over the steady growl of the engine, the shush of snow under the tires, and the wind over the frame. “What are you doing, Cas?”

“Something,” he said, without taking his eyes off of the road. “I’m just trying to do something.”

Dean was quiet for a long moment. Several long moments. Finally, just when Castiel thought he didn’t understand, he said, “Instead of nothing.”

The feeling of gratitude was strong enough that his hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Yes.”

“I get that,” Dean muttered, staring out at the road as they turned onto a street that had been more recently plowed. The warm temperatures of the night before were gone, and everything that had fallen as rain now formed an icy slick beneath the snow that even the plows couldn’t scrape away.

 _I know you do,_ Castiel thought. Whether he believed that Castiel could was another matter entirely.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam’s car was gone when they pulled into the driveway, and Castiel was selfishly glad. Not for the same reasons that Dean seemed to be concerned about, but simply because it meant he would have more time with Dean. Alone.

Even if they apparently weren’t talking, now.

“Okay,” Dean said, pausing just inside the front door. “I’m thinking we keep our coats on, ’cause it’s cold in here. I was kind of hoping we’d have power by now.”

Castiel didn’t say anything, but Dean glanced at him nonetheless. “Are we gonna get power back soon?” he asked, mouth quirking at the corners. “Is that one of the things you want me to ask you?”

Castiel couldn’t smile through the relief. Whether Dean understood or not, whether he believed in what Castiel was really after or not, he would continue to treat him as a friend. _You’re just a guy,_ he’d said. If there was anyone in the world who could believe that, it might just be Dean.

“No,” he said.

Then, when Dean’s half-smile vanished, he hurried to say, “Yes. You can ask me anything, Dean; I’m here for you. I’m here because of you. I want nothing more than for you to...” Be safe. Be happy. To keep being, no matter what.

 _To like me,_ his mind thought traitorously.

“So, that’s a no to the power, then?” Dean was smiling again, like the answer didn’t matter as much as the fact that Castiel was answering.

“Yes,” Castiel repeated. “I’m afraid the power will be out for some time.”

Dean grimaced. “All day?”

Castiel looked at him, searching his expression and finding no comfort. “Are you sure you want to know?”

“You know,” Dean pointed out.

“I know because I needed to,” Castiel replied. “I learned everything I could about this moment, about today, because it was the mission I chose for myself. Because you are the one I decided to save. I don’t know know everything about what’s happening elsewhere, nor do I typically know everything about any given moment. This one is unusual.”

“Great,” Dean said. “Let’s use it, then. I dunno if you’ve noticed, but we don’t get a lot of news around here when the lines go down.”

“Power will not be restored to your house for six and a half days,” Castiel told him.

Dean frowned, like he’d said something that was only mildly perplexing. “Here?” he said. “Our lights aren’t gonna come back on until next...”

“Thursday,” Castiel said. “At seven forty-two pm.”

Dean shook his head. “What about everyone else?” he demanded. “The rest of the town’s okay, right?”

“No,” Castiel said. “The storm was much worse than you know. The ice brought down power lines across the state. There aren’t enough public service trucks in the entire region to repair the damage before the end of the month.”

“The end of the month?” Dean echoed incredulously.

“Trucks from surrounding areas will be brought in,” Castiel offered. “The rest of the country will send aid and support.”

“The rest of the _country_?” Dean repeated. “What is this, a federal disaster area?”

“Yes,” Castiel said simply.

Dean stared at him, then reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his phone. “I’m gonna call work and tell ’em I’ll be in late,” he said. “Then we need to find some news and some coffee. Preferably not in that order.”

Castiel frowned at that. “Please give me your phone,” he said.

Dean didn’t hesitate. He turned it over without a word, raising an eyebrow when Castiel flipped it open. Signal strength was acceptable. It seemed the cell towers, at least, hadn’t been decimated by the ice.

“How do I contact your supervisor,” Castiel said, “to inform them that you won’t be coming in today?”

“I won’t?” Dean said. He didn’t seem too displeased. “Should I ask why?”

“Because you were in a car crash and you almost died,” Castiel snapped. “You can take one day, a single day when no one else is going to work or school either, when the roads are empty of all but the most foolhardy, to let yourself recover from a near-death experience.”

Dean looked like he was trying not to smile, and Castiel didn’t know whether that made him more or less irritated. “Right,” Dean said. “I’ll just call and say my angel saved me from an untimely death and could they please mark it as a personal day.”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Castiel retorted, “given that it may cause them to question your mental health as well.”

“Her name is Stacy,” Dean said. He nodded at the phone. “On my contact list.”

Dean’s contact list was still ridiculous, and Castiel searched for and found no less than three “Stacy”s. “Stacy at work?” he guessed aloud. At Dean’s nod, he pressed “call.”

There was no recorded message and no front desk, so Castiel assumed Dean had a direct line. He further assumed that first names would suffice. “Hello,” he told the woman’s voice on the other end. “This is Castiel. I’m a friend of Dean’s, and I’m calling to let you know he’s been in a car accident and won’t be in to work today.”

The voice sounded appropriately upset, and he nodded to himself even as he turned away from Dean’s impatient phone-grabbing gestures. Dean’s supervisor was acceptable. “He wasn’t seriously injured,” he told the phone. “He refused transport to the hospital, but he will need the day to recuperate.”

He listened for a moment, raising his eyebrow. “I believe his car will also recover.”

Dean’s supervisor was definitely acceptable.

“No,” he added. “He doesn’t have power either.”

Dean had stopped trying to get the phone back, which Castiel thought was a good sign. He answered a few more questions about Dean’s situation before hanging up. None about his identity, which he thought was interesting.

“Do you often have strangers calling your place of employment?” he asked Dean.

“Didn’t we already have the stranger conversation?” Dean replied. He was still wearing his coat, but he seemed to be looking for something in the closet. He had a flashlight tucked under his arm.

“I must be a stranger to Stacy,” Castiel pointed out. “Unless you secretly pointed me out to her without introducing us.”

“Sorry, Cas.” Dean sounded amused. He didn’t protest when Castiel eased the flashlight away from him and held it over his shoulder instead. “You’re the stalker in this relationship.”

“Then,” Castiel said, “I’m uncertain why she wasn’t more surprised to hear from me.”

“Stacy knows how to roll with stuff,” Dean said. “Also, I may have mentioned you once or twice.”

“Since last Wednesday,” Castiel said.

“Obviously.” Dean backed up, bumping into him without apology. “Sneakers,” he added, holding up his discovery. “So we don’t have to track snow all over the house.”

“Can’t we just take our boots off?” Castiel asked.

“Do you know how cold the floor is?” Dean countered. Then he paused. “Can you feel how cold it is?” he asked, more slowly. “You don’t have to eat or sleep – which I call bullshit on, by the way – do you get cold?”

“Yes,” Castiel said reluctantly. “But not... not in the way you usually think of it.”

“What other way is there?” Dean wanted to know. And he really did seem to want to know. It wasn’t just a challenge, and he wasn’t trying to brush it off. He was asking Castiel a question.

“Cold is the absence of energy,” Castiel said. Slowly. Careful to watch Dean’s reaction, to try to judge whether the explanation was genuinely wanted or not. “A lack of motion, a lack of drive. I’ve experienced this.”

“Stagnation,” Dean said.

Castiel blinked. “Perhaps,” he said after a moment.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “I could see that. Are you warmer when you’re saving people?”

He wasn’t sure whether Dean meant the question seriously or not. He wasn’t sure Dean even knew. But either way, it demonstrated a fundamental understanding of what Castiel was here to do, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“Yes,” he said. “Much warmer.”

“Good,” Dean said. “You can help warm me up, then. You want sneakers or not?”

He made a decision. “Yes.”

Dean handed them over, trading him for the flashlight, and he added, “I’m gonna go light the stove. I’m thinking oatmeal, maybe instant coffee. If we still have some. You want some?”

“Yes,” Castiel repeated. “Thank you.”

It was dim and cold in the kitchen, the bright white through the window not enough to illuminate the corners or the spaces under the table and chairs. Dean lit the stovetop with a gas lighter, boiled water, and poured it over oatmeal and instant coffee alike. The emergency radio was already on the table, and Dean turned it on when they sat down.

The news was filled with more reports of schools closing, entire towns without power, and more estimates on how many were in the dark than how long it would take to get the lights back on. There were vehicles off the road on all the major highways, and Castiel spared a second to be grateful that Dean hadn’t been going any faster when he tried to stop.

“So, that sounds bad,” Dean said, towards the end of his oatmeal.

“Certainly not promising,” Castiel agreed. Just for something to say.

“We’re gonna need shelters,” Dean said. “If this goes on longer than a day, we’ll need a warm place for people to sleep. I wonder if they’ll set something up at the school. The church has a generator, but it’s not enough to run what we’d need to make people comfortable.”

“Does the school also have a generator?” Castiel asked.

“No,” Dean said. “But if anyone has power back, it’ll be the school.”

Castiel shook his head wordlessly.

“They won’t have power back,” Dean said. “Okay. So, next town, then.”

“You said the church has a generator,” Castiel said. “Can it run the heat?”

“Yeah, but not the water pump, the water heater, and the lights all at the same time,” Dean said. “Sam checked when Dad first got it. It’s just enough to keep the pipes from freezing, not enough to make the place livable.”

“It may be the best you’ve got,” Castiel said carefully. “You could open the church as a warming station, at least.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, eyeing him over his bowl. “I guess that’s a thought.”

Castiel stared back at him. “I’ve made you uncomfortable.”

Dean looked startled, then laughed aloud. “Only if by ‘uncomfortable’ you mean ‘totally wanting to kiss you’,” he said. “I got a little distracted there. I guess the next question is, can we get another generator on short notice, or are the stores already sold out.”

“That’s not the next question,” Castiel said.

“This knowing the future thing could get annoying,” Dean told him. “Just so you know.”

“This has little to do with the future,” Castiel said. “More to do with me having a more pressing question than generators.”

“Shoot,” Dean said.

“You said you don’t do one-night stands,” Castiel said. “I have nothing else to offer you, and I won’t pretend otherwise. But I’d really like to kiss you on the couch now, while we’re alone, and pretend for a few minutes that it’s the only thing I have to do today.”

Dean stared at him, then reached out and snaked his bowl back across the table toward Dean’s own. “We won’t be able to wash these,” he said. “Unless I heat up more water. We have some water bottles downstairs, but we’ll have to get more. Batteries, too. And food that doesn’t have to be microwaved.”

Castiel watched him stack the bowls wordlessly, turning his stare downward for a moment before he shook his head. “Wow,” Dean said. “I seriously talk way too much.”

When Dean looked up again, Castiel was still waiting. Because there was nothing else he would do.

“I like your plan for the morning,” Dean told him. “Mine wasn’t a counter plan, just to be clear. It was a bunch of random observations that I can take care of whenever. Later. When the couch thing gets old. Which should be approximately never.”

Castiel felt a smile break across his face.

The couch was very comfortable. It had clearly been chosen – inherited by choice, Dean explained between kisses – with the goal of comfort in mind. Long enough for someone to sleep on, and wide enough that it didn’t feel like rolling over would land you on the floor. Of course, with two people stretched out side by side, the chances were considerably greater, but it wasn’t like they started out that way.

For the first fifteen minutes, Dean even kept his coat on. He divested Castiel of his and made him turn around, running warm fingers through his wings until Castiel was left trembling and gasping and with no idea how to make it stop. With no desire to make it stop, except that when Dean finally took his coat off and moved around in front of him, he found that he wanted to kiss more than he could remember wanting anything else in his life.

It wasn’t quite right. Dean was happy to oblige, and his hands slid over Castiel’s back while they traded kisses and mouthed at each other’s skin. But it was the proximity that made him feel warm. It was the feeling of Dean leaning into him, and he’d expected that, this was why he did it. He liked the closeness and the intimacy of it, actual kissing notwithstanding. This time, though, he’d thought –

He’d thought something would be different. He’d felt something different, when Dean’s hands were tracing the intangible shimmers of his grace. He’d wanted – he’d wanted _something_.

When Dean lifted his hands from Castiel’s back and dragged them through the air his wings didn’t displace, he felt a foreign sound torn from his throat. It wasn’t enough. He wanted Dean closer and he didn’t know how to get him there. He didn’t even know if Dean wanted to be there. But he did know that he would never think of his grace the same way again.

“Not a sexual response?” Dean murmured, licking over his jaw. “Really?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, shaking from the attention and no closer to classifying the sensation than he had been before. “I don’t usually –”

“Don’t tell me you’ve been saving yourself for me,” Dean interrupted. His humor sounded forced, this close and still this far away. “I won’t believe you.”

“I’ve had sex,” Castiel mumbled. “I don’t usually feel anything but a general sense of pleasure and satisfaction. I enjoy the closeness of it, but I feel no overpowering desire to make it happen.”

“Hey, you’re the one who asked me to get on the couch,” Dean pointed out. “You climbed into my bed all on your own last night. I just want to go on record that pushing this wasn’t my idea.”

“I enjoy it,” Castiel repeated, frustrated. “Women understand this better than men, in my experience. All I really want is to be with you, and if I can make you feel good in the process, then I _like_ that.

“Not you,” he added hastily. “Of course. You said you didn’t – and I wouldn’t –”

“Cas,” Dean interrupted, kissing his jaw before returning gently to his mouth. “I want you. I don’t think you actually want me, no matter what you say. I’m not trying to sound like a jerk here but that kind of makes more sense to me now that I know you’re an angel.

“I get that you like being with someone,” he continued. “I get that sometimes it seems like sex is the easiest, most familiar way to do that. But first off, I am not taking advantage of the fact that you’re lonely to bang you, and second, are you sure I should keep doing this? The wing thing, I mean? Maybe you don’t... recognize it, or whatever, but it’s definitely doing something to you.”

He didn’t recognize it. He’d never felt anything like it before. Not with a human. The only possible exception was in the company of his brothers and sisters, when their wings might brush against his by accident, or their grace would deliberately join with his.

“You feel like an angel,” he blurted out, and with anyone else, he was sure it would have been exactly the wrong thing to say. Anyone who knew.

Anyone who wasn’t Dean, who just chuckled and said, “I’m not sure that’s a compliment, but if it’s true, it would explain a few things. Right?”

“I feel no desire for my own kind,” Castiel whispered. “The sins of the flesh do not plague us as they do you.”

“I kind of hate that that’s sexy,” Dean muttered. “I’d totally do penance if I believed in that kind of thing.”

If he believed in that kind of thing. Because of course Dean, who believed everyone was doing their best, would see no reason to punish them for it. Castiel pressed a kiss against his temple, more grateful to have saved this man than anyone else he’d touched.

“So, but wait,” Dean was saying, and he was definitely not waiting. Whatever he wanted to figure out, he seemed determined to do it while staying as close to Castiel as possible. Which was ideal, as far as Castiel was concerned.

“If I’m like an angel,” Dean continued, “which, thanks for that – I think – it still shouldn’t turn you on. That’s what you’re saying, right?”

“That,” Castiel said, kissing his cheek before trailing his way toward Dean’s neck, “is exactly what I’m saying.”

“But you like it anyway,” Dean said, tilting his head back.

“Yes,” Castiel said, patient and pleased and less strung out on desire he couldn’t define now that Dean’s hands had come to rest on his back. “I like it very much.”

This seemed to be enough for Dean. He did eventually tire of kissing, if his shift was any indication, but he pulled his hands back in close and started to run them across Castiel’s long-sleeved shirt. It was a kind warmth, and Dean let his head fall, bracing his forehead against Castiel’s shoulder as his hands wandered lower. Over his ribs, across his stomach, careful as they went from tracing to pressing to rubbing gently through his shirt.

“I’d ask,” Dean mumbled, “if I could take your shirt off.” He didn’t lift his head, and his words were muffled by that same shirt. It was the first thing he’d said in several long minutes, though, and there was no way Castiel could miss it.

“I mean, you said you don’t feel the cold,” Dean continued. “So much.”

There was a hesitation just long enough for Castiel to open his mouth, ready to agree, almost ready to push Dean back and do it himself. Skin was sensitive. He liked feeling it tingle in response to a lover’s touch. Even the touch of someone not quite a lover. The result of the action mattered little to Castiel; it was the action itself he enjoyed.

Dean exhaled against his shoulder, breath warm on the fabric. His hands had gone still as he said, “But I’m already liking this a little too much, and I’m pretty sure... I don’t think seeing you shirtless is gonna help. At all.”

“Dean,” he whispered. He didn’t want this to end. “Please, just – anything you want. Tell me what you want.”

Another breath, hot on his shoulder, shakier than the last. The words were almost inaudible as Dean breathed, “I want you. God help me, Cas, I just want you.”

The admission hurt somehow, making something in him twist. Reaching for Dean. His wings were arcing around him, reaching out to engulf Dean, and he hadn’t meant to do that. Dean would see as soon as he looked up. He might even feel it, unlikely though it seemed.

“You have me,” Castiel whispered. “More than you know.”

Dean lifted his head. Castiel’s wings were all around him, and it was very clear that he saw them. That he knew, that he reacted, that it was too much and he was going to pull away. “I can’t do this,” he said, holding very still. Inside Castiel’s all-encompassing embrace. “Cas...”

“You don’t have to,” Castiel said, when he couldn’t finish. “You’ve more than honored my request. Consider it a favor returned, if that’s more acceptable to you.”

“No,” Dean said sharply. His voice rasped a little as he raised it, and Castiel thought that kissing his throat might make him smile. He managed to refrain.

“You’re just this guy,” Dean said, still staring at him. At his face. Not his wings. “This guy who’s going to walk away, and I _know_ that, and I never expected anything else. It’s been a week. A fucking week. And I feel like you’re gonna tear my heart out when you go.”

“Come with me,” Castiel said. “You can. You could just –”

He saw Dean’s expression crumble, and he closed his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to say that. I didn’t mean to do that. Please, forgive me.”

Dean didn’t pull himself away. He stayed right where he was, and after a moment, Castiel heard him ask, “Could you do me a... a favor? Don’t say yes until you know what it is. You don’t have to say yes.”

“Yes,” Castiel said without opening his eyes.

“No,” Dean insisted. “Let me ask. Let me – this is a terrible idea on so many levels, but – can I try to get you off?”

Castiel blinked at him. The question startled him back into staring, and he had no idea where it came from. He couldn’t fathom what was behind Dean’s steady gaze, embarrassed, yes, but determined. He had a reason for asking. He wasn’t sharing it. And Castiel certainly wasn’t going to turn him down.

“Yes,” he repeated.

Dean didn’t move. He sat there, Castiel lying beneath him, for longer than seemed humanly appropriate. Castiel thought it might as well go on forever: everything he could ask for, every possibility he hadn’t yet relinquished, right there in front of him. Right there with him.

He didn’t care if they never moved again.

“Upstairs,” Dean said abruptly. “I hate to ruin the mood, but Sam’ll kill me if we do it on the couch.”

“Your bed is already unmade,” Castiel observed, as quiet and unobtrusive as he could be while trying to reassure Dean. Talking seemed to keep him from getting lost inside his own head. “Will the blankets keep you warm enough if you take off your shirt as well?”

Dean threw him a smirk that looked half-hearted. “You wanna see me without my shirt?”

“Very much,” Castiel said.

He saw Dean take a deep breath. “Okay,” he said, pressing on Castiel’s chest. “Wings.”

Castiel tilted his head. “You want to touch my wings?”

“I want you to move your wings,” Dean corrected. “So I can get up.”

Castiel eyed him curiously. “They won’t stop you.”

Dean shrugged. “Feels rude,” he said.

It made Castiel smile, and he withdrew his wings with some reluctance. In all likelihood, Dean wouldn’t have even felt himself go through them. But he could see them, and he thought it was rude to just – move.

Dean sat back, a little awkward as he pushed himself up off of the couch. “Thanks,” he said simply, reaching back to help Castiel up. “Let me lock the front door.”

He didn’t let Dean pull his hand away. Dean’s lips quirked, but he let Castiel follow him to the door. He flipped the deadbolt, kicked the latch, and they both turned toward the stairs. “Bedroom,” Dean said.

“Bedroom,” Castiel agreed. With an embarrassingly greater degree of enthusiasm, if he cared about such things. Which he didn’t. Not when he wasn’t trying to appear non-descript and approachable.

“You really don’t mind?” Dean asked, glancing sideways at him as they climbed the stairs. “I mean... you seem like you like the idea.”

He tried not to laugh, but he could feel it bubbling up inside him, pressing against his throat. “Dean, this is the best idea you’ve had all day.”

“Really? Even if you don’t...” He could hear Dean frowning. “Get anything out of it?”

“Of course I get something out of it,” Castiel said. “I get you all to myself. I get you lavishing your undivided attention on me. And I get you shirtless and in bed with me, which I assure you, I’ve imagined far too many times for your peace of mind.”

That finally got a smile from Dean. “Well, when you put it like that,” he said.

Dean left his sneakers just inside the door, so Castiel did the same. Dean had flung the blankets on his bed back by the time he looked up again. “What happens if I just...” Dean waved awkwardly, doing something with his hands that Castiel didn’t understand until he finished, “With your wings?”

Castiel paused. “I don’t know,” he said.

“Can I try?” Dean asked. He was watching Castiel carefully, like he thought there might be something going on that Castiel wasn’t telling him. Like he wasn’t sure of his reception.

“Please,” Castiel said, as emphatically as he could. “Shall I sit?”

“You shall lie down,” Dean teased, and the smile that graced his expression was more than enough encouragement. “Preferably after taking your shirt off.”

Castiel had absolutely no problem with that. Which was how he found himself face down in Dean’s bed, hot and shirtless and trying not to groan into the mattress. Because Dean was right: there was something about his wings. Or there was something about the combination of his wings and Dean’s hands, which right now he found perfectly plausible.

Dean’s touch had started soft, tentative. He couldn’t actually feel it, he said, but he traced his fingers along lines of light and curled them deeper every time Castiel made a sound. Castiel saw no reason to be silent with motivation like that, and soon Dean was twisting his his hands through his grace, pushing down and pulling back like he was giving an actual massage. Every so often his fingers would brush against Castiel’s skin and he would get distracted, running his hands over skin and muscle instead of light and grace, and the contrast of warmth and want made Castiel shudder.

“It’s like I can feel it,” Dean whispered at one point. “I mean, I know I can’t. But it feels like I can, when I’m watching you move underneath it. It’s like it moves with you.”

“It does,” he gasped, shifting with Dean’s touch. Trying to get him to press harder. “My human form contains my grace as –” Dean pressed his hand all the way down to the bed, and Castiel groaned. He didn’t know why _he_ could feel it, and he didn’t care. “As best it can,” he breathed. “And so the part of me you see and the part of me you don’t are effectively the same.”

He felt Dean swing over top of him, straddling his waist. The extra weight was nowhere near as good as the way Dean’s knees edged into his wings and his hands could reach farther and harder than they had before. He was getting bolder. Like he’d accepted that it didn’t hurt, like he’d finally realized it was just contact, any contact, _his_ contact that made Castiel’s wings hum.

They’d been missing for so long that every touch felt like pulling something free. Like the full extent of his grace had slammed into place all at once but the connections were reawakening one by one. Like Dean was waking them up himself. Each and every one of them.

If this was what it felt like to be turned on, Castiel thought distantly, he was beginning to understand what humans saw in the sensation.

He hadn’t realized he was exhibiting human signs of arousal until Dean paused, longer than usual, and he whimpered. The sound was usually enough to get Dean to start again. This time he just pressed harder on Castiel’s back, fingers only incidentally brushing grace, and Castiel tried to push back.

Lifting his shoulders pressed his hips into the mattress, and he felt the muscles in Dean’s legs tense. If he would push his knees into Castiel’s wings, that would also be acceptable. Castiel lowered his wings as slowly as he could, not wanting to startle him, but Dean just sat there as the trailing edge of Castiel’s grace washed over him.

His grace pulsed with connection. He lifted his wings without thinking, reaching for more, and he heard Dean’s sharp intake of breath. He didn’t move, though, and Castiel’s wings bracketed him, pressing grace up and down the sides of his body. It made his wings shiver and shift and he wanted. He wanted so much.

“Okay,” Dean said softly. “I need you to turn around.”

He wanted to turn around. He let Dean slide awkwardly off of him before he rolled over. Dean had his hands braced on his knees and he looked flushed, but mostly he was just bright. More than his eyes, more than his soul, he looked like something in him was responding to Castiel, and Castiel couldn’t keep from reaching out.

He was sitting up, easing his wings around this man who didn’t seem to know what to do next, and Dean closed his eyes. Castiel leaned forward, crawling into him, running his hands over Dean’s chest. Dean trembled under his touch, fingers going white on his knees. Castiel pressed a kiss against his throat, tightening his wings, wrapping grace around Dean and feeling light blaze up and down his back.

“I swear I can feel that,” Dean whispered without opening his eyes. “You just pressed your wings against my back.”

“Yes,” Castiel breathed. “Did you want me on my back, or may I push you down?”

Dean choked out a laugh. “You’re the politest guy I’ve ever met.”

“You’ve been having sex with the wrong people,” Castiel whispered. “There’s no love in someone who won’t listen.”

Dean was very still. “Are you in love with me, Cas?” He wasn’t looking, eyes squeezed shut and his head bowed, tilted just enough that Castiel could reach his neck. And he did, kissing as carefully as breathing.

“I don’t know,” he said softly. He almost wished Dean wouldn’t hear. The question meant too much to Dean and he didn’t know how to answer, he didn’t know what his answer would mean. “I’ve loved you since before I met you. I love you more now. But what it means to be in love has never been a question before.”

“Is it a –” Dean broke off, tipping his head further as Castiel pressed up under his ear. His face was buried in Dean’s neck, his wing bracing Dean’s head, and Dean managed, “Is it a question now?”

“Yes,” Castiel murmured. Of course. How else could he not know?

“I want you on your back,” Dean said. “But you can push me down anyway.”

He slid his arms around Dean’s waist, catching the hem of his shirt and breathing in his ear, “Shirt.” Dean lifted his arms easily enough, hands going right through Castiel’s grace. He pulled the shirt up and pressed forward even as he tossed it away, reaching for the blankets behind Dean.

He felt Dean yield awkwardly, expecting to be pushed back into them. Castiel held him up, blankets around his shoulders, kissing him, tugging him in the other direction. “Back,” he mumbled, lifting just enough to ease Dean’s slouch as he lowered himself down. “This way.”

“You’re freakishly strong,” Dean gasped, catching himself on his hands before he could fall the rest of the way. “And wow, I didn’t mean that to sound like an insult.”

Castiel smiled. “There are perks,” he reminded Dean.

“I guess,” Dean muttered, staring down at him. “Can you – can you stretch your wings out?”

He let them slide free, mostly on top of the bed in the hopes that Dean wanted to know because he was planning to touch them, not just because he was curious. “Yes,” he said unnecessarily.

Dean didn’t even straighten first, just dragged his hands back into Castiel’s wings to push himself up. His wings were behind him, the pressure was inescapable and his reaction was instinctive. His entire body jerked in response, back arching as he tried to shove his wings into Dean’s hands and only succeeded in thrusting hard against the man sitting on top of him.

Dean grunted, fists clenching. His grace flared, thrumming through Dean’s curled fingers, and Castiel pushed again. He put his hands on Dean’s bare chest and pulled, rubbing and tugging on that skin in a frantic effort to mirror the effect of Dean’s fists on his wings. “Please,” he gasped, aware that he’d said it more to Dean than in the last couple of hours than he ever had to another human soul. “More.”

“More what,” Dean whispered. His eyes were wide as he squirmed further up Castiel’s body, waistband low and tight across his hips as he pressed his groin to Castiel’s bare stomach. His fists ground against the mattress as he shifted, leaning into Castiel’s touch, streamers of grace twisting between his fingers.

He didn’t know. But Dean needed this, Dean could have this, and the more control he lost the more real he felt against Castiel’s wings. Because he was pressing harder, because he was feeling more, because his soul was absorbing grace as it went, Castiel had no idea and even less concern. He knew what he was doing.

“Dean,” he whispered, sliding his fingers over Dean’s hips. Into the heated space between skin and waistband, digging in with his hands and curling his fingers as much as he could. He could feel Dean about to jerk, saw the inevitable thrust in the way his stomach muscles twitched, and Castiel held him where he was. Keeping him from moving

Dean made a strangled sound that might have started as a moan. His hands shoved forward instead, still buried past his wrists in Castiel’s wings. His fists twisted as he shoved his palms downward, and something crackled. Like static electricity against the sheets, a tiny spark that made his wings tingle the way his skin did. Like an actual physical sensation.

“Yes,” Castiel gasped, instinctively trying to force his shoulders into the sensation. “That.”

“Cas,” Dean said roughly. “If I’m along for this ride –”

He tightened his grip, thumbs pressing between thigh and groin, and Dean tried not to thrust into it. He could feel how much Dean was trying not to move but it was a losing battle: pressure there would make it feel like he was pushing no matter what he did. Castiel knew how to be convincing.

“Cas,” Dean hissed. He opened his hand and slammed it down on the bed, and they both felt the resistance as it went through Castiel’s wing. Castiel’s head fell back as he writhed under the sensation of almost, _almost_ enough. He felt a dry sob rung out of him when nothing he did made the feeling come again.

“Cas,” Dean said again, softer this time. “Tell me what to do.”

“That,” he growled, lifting his wings, wrapping them forward as best he could. He could almost push them against Dean, could almost stroke him with them. They were almost _there_.

“What,” Dean insisted, too gentle. Like he’d forgotten his own desire, like it didn’t matter. Like nothing mattered except Castiel’s relief.

“Can’t you feel it?” Castiel demanded. His hands slid around Dean without him even meaning to move, fingers still pressed against his skin, cupping him, wings bracing his back as Castiel rolled on top of him. Onto his wings, onto Dean, and the abrupt and messy fusion flashed bright white in the back of his mind.

Dean’s eyes were wide as Castiel collapsed against him. It was the last expression he saw before he felt tentative fingers poking at his actual wings. He yanked one of them free in sheer desperation, but it was harder than it should have been because Dean was _lying on them_. Dean was underneath him and he was holding him down and he was touching him because Dean was glowing bright with enough borrowed grace to shift his soul against Castiel’s wings.

“Yeah,” Dean whispered in his ear, and it echoed in ways a human voice shouldn’t have been able to. “Yeah, I can feel that.”

It was a pale echo of heaven, cocooning this impossible being in grace and feeling it reflected back at him. Dean shouldn’t be able to hold grace, shouldn’t be able to touch it, shouldn’t make it light up like the electric promise of salvation. But he could, he was, he did.

“Castiel,” Dean’s voice breathed. “Son of the lord, favored of the flock. I give you my mortal days and entrust to you my immortal soul.”

It was all around him. It was as close to home as he’d been in decades, and when Dean spilled into prayer Castiel felt his mind falling open around him. He couldn’t tell if it was his own awareness overwhelming Dean, or Dean’s awareness trying to draw his in. But it was more like divine communion than anything he’d known outside of heaven’s fellowship.

“Bless us,” Dean was whispering. “That we may always know this love, no matter how far we stray or how long we turn our faces away. Let this be the haven that welcomes us home.”

He shuddered, felt Dean inhale sharply against him, and for one interminable moment the heat of his grace felt mirrored by another presence. As though he wasn’t alone. As though the divine light of this room had burst out of the house, spreading bright and unmistakable in a wave that washed across the land and stretched for the firmament itself. Stretched, reached, and found, connecting to –

Castiel opened his eyes abruptly. Dean’s skin was pressed against his mouth, his face buried in Dean’s chest, hot and flushed and very human. He clenched his fingers experimentally and felt Dean hiss. So his hands were still where he’d left them. One wing underneath them, the other flung out over the sheets, still pulsing bright and inexplicably substantial to his human senses.

“Dean,” he murmured. His voice was rougher than he wanted it to be, but there was no hiding how the surge of grace had affected him. “Are you all right?”

Dean grunted, and he thought it was a pained sound. “It’s wrong that I’m turned on by that, right? Like, I’m gonna jerk off to the thought of angel wings for the rest of my life. That can’t be okay.”

He shifted some of his weight onto the wing still pinned beneath them, flexing fingers still trapped against Dean’s skin. “May I?” he murmured.

“Oh, please, yeah,” Dean blurted out. “I mean – if you want.”

“I want,” Castiel said softly. He wanted too much, and something impossible had happened because of it. He had no explanation for the recognition that had crashed over his grace when Dean’s soul started to respond. He had no explanation for Dean’s response, period.

What he did have was Dean, bucking against him like he’d forgotten he was still wearing clothes. Like Castiel’s hands were all he needed. And maybe they were, but he deserved so much more. So Castiel dragged himself up, a knee between his legs while he held Dean’s hips down with his hands.

When he leaned in to kiss Dean’s chest, a brush of his lips made Dean gasp. “Cas,” he groaned, head rolling back even as his hips thrust up. “Don’t. Please, just –”

He knew what it was to beg, now. He was careful with Dean’s clothing. He was less careful with his skin, letting his teeth graze ribs, Dean’s hip bone. The top of his thigh. Dean was tense beneath him, held still only by Castiel’s hands, but he wasn’t planning to move his hands.

The first press of his tongue drew a cry from Dean. Castiel didn’t lift his head, kissing him, sliding his tongue over soft skin. He didn’t tighten his fingers when Dean pushed against his grip. He just held on, ignoring Dean’s frustrated groan. He wasn’t going to get it wrong because he was in a hurry.

“Cas,” Dean panted, and maybe he should have been paying more attention to where Dean’s hands were. Because he felt fingers brush against his extended wing at the same moment the other hand clamped down on the one still curled under Dean. Right over his shoulder, hard against the curve of a joint that never completely straightened out.

Those fingers dug in and Castiel choked, pressing his face forward as he tried ground himself, to hold still enough that his body wouldn’t simply crush Dean. He tried to yank his wing back and failed miserably as another burst of heat raced through it. “That,” he rasped, “was extremely unwise.”

“So’s teasing a guy –” Dean bit down on a groan, the sound coming out stifled and weak as Castiel opened his mouth and did his best to end this before either of them got hurt. “Who just...” Dean’s voice was breathy, but he was still talking. “Gave you an angel orgasm.”

 _Of course you can talk,_ Castiel thought, humming the words in his throat without opening his mouth. _Because why would you get off like a normal person._

“You’re not saying anything nice,” Dean panted, muscles tensing repeatedly against Castiel’s hands. “I can tell.”

Dean’s hand was unfortunately squeezing in time with his suppressed thrusts, and Castiel wasn’t even sure he knew he was doing it. Except that this was Dean, so of course he knew.

 _Stop that,_ he hummed. He was going to do something drastic if Dean didn’t let go of his wing.

“Okay,” Dean gasped. “I am all for blowjobs, but I can’t move, and if you don’t –”

Castiel pulled away, and Dean’s demand degenerated into a whimper. The sharp tug he gave to pull his pinned wing free coincided with Dean trying to jerk it in the other direction, and Castiel swung his other wing so that the leading edge smacked Dean across the chest. “Stop that,” he snapped. “They’re not intangible now, not to you. That hurts.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean blurted out. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I’m so –”

Castiel kissed him. He had to climb up Dean’s chest to do it, and it was clumsy and apologetic but Dean really didn’t deserve to be yelled at for something that Castiel had been begging for just a few short minutes ago. _My fault,_ he thought, kissing deeper as he slid his hand down between them. _So sorry._

“Not,” Dean gasped, twisting his hips, now held down only by Castiel’s weight. “Your fault.”

He found the same soft heat he had sucked to throbbing hardness and fumbled his fingers into place. Dean was already shoving against the resistance, against his skin, against his hand, against anything willing to get in the way. Castiel struggled with his rhythm, lost his balance when Dean knocked his leg aside. He felt his grace shift, strange and physical and it distracted him long enough that Dean could push him over.

Dean’s hands were on his wings again, the rest of his body flushed and demanding but his hands –

Castiel closed his eyes. He held on, trying to concentrate on the feel of Dean against his hands while everything about Dean’s hands on him made him it almost impossible. “Dean,” he whispered. The tender brush of fingers over the surface of his grace was so gentle, so precise now that Dean could feel exactly where it began.

It was nothing an angel would do, and nothing a human could do.

“I can’t,” he breathed, still aware of Dean moving against him. He wanted to make Dean feel this good. He could tighten his fingers but he couldn’t match Dean’s movements, not when he was this distracted.

“You don’t have to,” Dean grunted, voice closer than Castiel had expected and then, a moment later, he felt Dean’s mouth on his wing. _Sorry,_ he heard Dean say. _Never meant to hurt you._

Dean could take it. Dean had proven it wouldn’t hurt him. Dean was _kissing his wing._

Castiel let grace gather in his fingertips and trailed them carefully up the side of Dean’s body. Just the one hand, just one ticklish trail, the glow spreading and dissipating into Dean’s skin. And Dean trembled, breath hot on Castiel’s wing when he gasped.

His wings were sensitive to the air Dean breathed, Castiel thought. That couldn’t be right.

“How did you,” Dean blurted, all pretense at calm gone. His hips stuttered, wild rhythm faltering while Castiel drew another line of light over his ribs. “Oh. _Oh._ ”

“Is that all right?” Castiel murmured. “Does it feel all right?”

“It feels like my skin having a fucking orgasm,” Dean mumbled, his head falling to Castiel’s shoulder. His body was braced on his elbows, but his arms shook when Castiel ran his fingers down across abdomen, the suggestion unmistakable. “Oh, that’s.” He didn’t bother to finish.

“May I?” Castiel asked softly. He didn’t know what it would feel like. It shouldn’t feel like anything, but Dean could clearly sense grace without harm. Whatever the reason, he seemed open to experimentation.

“Oh, yeah,” Dean breathed. Like he could barely do it. Like he didn’t dare move enough to make the words any louder.

Castiel’s other hand was already there. Dean was swollen, slick, and entirely still. He could have simply teased grace through his other hand, but there was no telling what it would feel like and it seemed unfair to deny Dean the anticipation. So he let go.

Dean whimpered, the flinch in his hips making it clear just how much he was holding back. But he still didn’t move, letting the fingers of Castiel’s glowing hand trace their way over skin, through wiry hair, and finally, up his entire length. Every muscle in his body tightened, and Castiel could hear his name, over and over, though he didn’t feel Dean’s breath alter its ragged rhythm against his chest.

He did feel warmth that wasn’t grace on his skin. He felt Dean shake as he tried to keep holding himself up. He wanted to close his hand around Dean, to wrap him in grace and see if he could get it to reflect back at him again. But Dean had done nothing to indicate continued attention was welcome, and he felt wrung out and sweaty and only moments from complete collapse.

So Castiel traced his fingers over Dean’s wrist instead. Up his arm, letting the light soak into his skin until Dean whispered, “Stop.”

He pulled his hand away. Dean just hung there above him, breath harsh against his shoulder, muscles twitching in his legs. Castiel wished he could enfold him in his wings and urge him to relax. But if Dean couldn’t take the grace in his fingers, he probably wouldn’t react well to the feel of Castiel’s wings. And if he wanted to relax, he would. There wasn’t anything stopping him.

“Okay,” Dean mumbled after a moment. “I thought – I sort of thought I was reading your mind there. Once or twice.”

“Yes,” Castiel said softly. He hadn’t been sure Dean noticed. “I thought that as well.”

Dean let out his breath in a sigh, still not lifting his head. “Tell me that’s nothing to worry about.”

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Castiel said. He hoped.

“Okay,” Dean repeated, heaving himself up into a sitting position with what looked like a supreme act of will. He stared blankly at Castiel’s stomach for a moment, then lifted his gaze to Castiel’s face. “I believe you.”

Leaning over Castiel, he reached for the edge of a blanket and tugged the sheet out from under it. He pulled until he found the corner, then used it to dry Castiel’s skin. “What’s your policy on cuddling?” he said, smiling a little as though it wasn’t important at all.

“My policy is yes,” Castiel murmured.

Dean’s smile softened. “I thought you might say that,” he admitted, pushing the sheet back and tugging the blankets up over his shoulders again. He brought them with him when he laid down, a sigh pouring out of him. “I never want to move again.”

Castiel considered that, wondering if it was appropriate to reach out to him. “That would seem to interfere with some of your other plans.”

Dean huffed out a laugh, turning his head so that it rested on his arm. “Yeah, like all of them. Except the one where I stay in bed with you forever.”

“Mmm,” Castiel agreed, pleased by the thought. “I approve of that plan.”

“Good,” Dean said. “You’re kind of a key part of it.”

Castiel smiled. It occurred to him to pass Dean the pillow from the other side of the bed. Dean mumbled his thanks, settling closer against his side after he pushed the pillow under his head. Castiel was tempted to roll onto his side and drape his wing over Dean through the blanket, but he wasn’t sure the gesture would be welcome.

“Cas,” Dean murmured after a few minutes. His eyes were closed, but his head was still turned toward Castiel. “How was it?”

Castiel considered every possible meaning of that question. He didn’t want to weigh everything Dean said, but there wasn’t any reason for Dean to pretend this didn’t matter. Not unless he was trying to pretend for himself.

“The sex?” he asked at last. Just to be clear.

He turned his head in time to see Dean’s lips twitch. “Yeah,” he said. “The sex.”

“Better than any sex I’ve had,” Castiel said honestly. No one had ever been able to touch his grace like that.

Dean sighed. “Yeah,” he said. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

Dean still hadn’t opened his eyes, which made it slightly more difficult to guess what he was thinking. “Were you?” Castiel asked carefully.

Something in his tone must have alerted Dean to his confusion. His eyes blinked open, staring bright green across the miniscule space between them. “It’s stupid,” he said quietly. “You probably don’t want to know.”

“Dean,” Castiel said. “If you need me to reassure you that I meant what I said, I will. But just as a general rule, I don’t ask questions that I don’t want answered.”

Dean lowered his gaze to Castiel’s shoulder briefly before looking back up. The silent acknowledgment also served as an apology – one Castiel didn’t need, but he was aware of it nonetheless. “I thought it would suck,” he said bluntly. “For you. Not for me, obviously, but it wasn’t – I didn’t really – it wasn’t supposed to be about me.”

He looked uncomfortable, but he added, “I already know I want you. I figured, if I could prove to myself that you wouldn’t like it, then I’d know it wouldn’t work.”

Castiel was careful to work out which pronoun went where. “You thought if the sex wasn’t good, there’d be no hope for a workable relationship?”

Dean groaned, rolling toward Castiel to bury his face in his pillow. Their shoulders pressed against each other, and his voice was muffled. “Why does it sound so stupid when you say it?”

“Because it is stupid,” Castiel said wryly. Proximity would have to be permission enough. He eased out from under Dean, onto his side, and laid his arm gently against Dean’s back. “The premise is flawed. And we’re already operating under the assumption that there won’t be an ongoing relationship, regardless.”

“Yeah,” Dean mumbled, moving his head the slightest bit. “It’d be easier to accept if something about it wasn’t awesome.”

Castiel smiled a little. It was a kind thought. He ran his fingers over Dean’s shoulder, waiting until Dean closed his eyes again to ease his wing closer. He wasn’t sure how much Dean would be able to feel. Castiel’s grace would go right through the blanket and heat Dean’s skin if he was still... attuned to it.

“Can feel you hovering,” Dean mumbled into the pillow.

“I haven’t had this much grace for a long time,” Castiel murmured. “I’m... at something of a loss.”

“Can’t sleep?” Dean guessed.

“Rarely,” Castiel said. “I’d like to put my wing over you, and I’m not sure whether you’ll notice or not. Would it bother you?”

“Uh-uh.” The sound Dean made was ambiguous, but Castiel thought it was negative. He assumed Dean would protest more vigorously if he was opposed to the idea, so he let his wing settle slowly over Dean’s back.

He saw Dean shiver, and he almost withdrew before he realized Dean was smiling.

“S’really warm,” Dean whispered. “Thanks.”

Castiel considered his response carefully. Mostly because none of them seemed completely appropriate. Finally he murmured, “Likewise.” But quietly, in case Dean was dozing.

This time, Castiel didn’t fall asleep. He almost wished that he would, if only to avoid thinking about the flare of grace and the connection he had almost initiated with the brothers and sisters he’d left behind. Even if the unintentional restoration of his grace had gone unnoticed, he thought the strange half-communion wouldn’t be so easily dismissed.

He was probably already being traced. He should leave now, before they found the town. Before they came, before they took him or tore the town apart trying. No matter how awesome Dean thought he was, Castiel doubted he would be so forgiving if he took everything Dean had.

But he had promised Dean, he reminded himself. He had promised to say goodbye, and to let Dean drive him back to his car. Surely it would be unkind to wake him for so dreary a task.

It was nothing but an excuse. The worry over it was strong enough that he didn’t dare will himself to sleep. It was not, however, enough to make him do what he thought was right.

So he was the one to hear the car in the driveway, to wonder if he should wake Dean, and to listen to the steps out front before deciding that the answer was yes. “Dean,” he said quietly. He got a mumble in response, which he assumed meant Dean wasn’t really asleep. There was no knock downstairs, but the sound of a key turning in the lock seemed to penetrate Dean’s determined lassitude.

“That Sam?” Dean mumbled.

“It’s likely,” Castiel agreed. “Does he often return in the middle of the morning?”

“His schedule’s weird,” Dean said with a sigh. “Question is, do we try to make it look plausible, or do we figure it’s not worth getting up?”

The front door opened, and Castiel glanced at the door to Dean’s room. It swung stealthily shut. The clicking of the latch was enough to make Dean roll his head to the side, and Sam’s voice was muffled by the door when he called, “Dean?”

“Did you just close the door?” Dean asked, staring at him.

Castiel shrugged. “It delays your moment of decision for a few more seconds.”

“Huh.” Dean considered it, then surprised him by saying, “Not really worth it, but Sam will probably thank me.” With a sigh, he rolled out from under Castiel’s wing and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He hissed when the cold air hit his skin. “This no-heat thing sucks,” he muttered.

He was already pulling on his pants, getting a shirt on as Sam’s voice called out again. “Dean, are you here?” There was the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

“The car’s in the driveway,” Dean grumbled. “Where does he think I am?

“Yeah,” he added, raising his voice without warning. “Upstairs, Sam!”

Castiel pulled his own shirt on, trying to resettle it into something that looked less like it had been crumpled up on the floor. It was mostly a losing battle. It was possible that being distracted by Dean’s dressing also contributed to his difficulty.

“Hey,” Sam’s voice said, from right outside the door. He knocked gently. “You okay, dude?”

“Just a second,” Dean said. He ran a hand through his hair, glanced around the room, and shrugged. “Sneakers,” he muttered to himself, as he strode toward the door. “Why did I leave them way over here?

“Hey, Sammy,” he added, yanking the door open. “Get out of school early, or you forget your lunchbox?”

“Very funny,” Sam told him, his gaze sliding past Dean to Castiel the moment he’d opened the door. “I heard you were... in an accident; were you guys making out?” The question seemed to overtake his original concern. “Seriously, you look like you just had a morning quickie.”

“We did,” Dean said with a sigh. “Was there something you wanted?”

Sam’s gaze finally shifted back to Dean, and he stared for longer than the information warranted. “Wow,” he said at last. “Dad is gonna kill you.”

“Well, maybe I’m tired of caring,” Dean snapped. “Can we be done with this conversation now?”

“Okay,” Sam said, holding up his hands. “Whatever. But the phone’s out and you didn’t answer your cell, so Dad called me and I called Stacy.

“I know,” he added, lifting his hands higher in the face of Dean’s glare. “But it was that or let Dad do it. Stacy said you’d been in a crash and were out for the day, so I told Dad you called in – you’re welcome – and I came back here to check on you.”

“Great,” Dean grumbled. “I’m great. Thank you.”

“Hey, sorry to crash the party.” Sam glanced at Castiel again. “Did I crash the party? I can go.”

“Nah,” Dean mumbled, though he too threw a look at Castiel. “We gotta get up anyway. What’s it like out there? We heard the whole town’s dark.”

“Half the state,” Sam said. “Literally. More than half the main power company’s customers are totally without power, and like a third of the rest have rolling brownouts to decrease the load. Traffic lights, railroad crossings, it’s a mess. The university shut down for the day, and they’re talking about voluntary evacuations tonight if they don’t get the power back before then.

“The Millers okay?” he added as an afterthought. “And you – seriously, car crash? Your car looks fine, Dean.”

“Went off the road,” Dean said. “No big. Cas helped dig her out. We’re fine, the Millers are fine, everyone’s fine.”

“You went off the road?” Sam repeated. “Since when do you go off the road? Please tell me you weren’t fooling around.”

“No!” Dean exclaimed. “Lines came down, okay? Freak thing. I spun out trying to avoid ’em, that’s all.”

“Huh.” Sam was squinting at Castiel now. “Good. I mean, I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Stop staring at my boyfriend,” Dean complained. “Not okay, Sam. Red light.”

“He’s your boyfriend now?” Sam asked, giving Dean an amused look.

Watching them bicker, Castiel was suddenly reminded of Dean’s concern that Sam would be able to see him. He hadn’t expected to have to deal with that possibility: what were the odds he would run into Sam again before he left?

Better than he’d thought, apparently.

“Yeah,” Dean said shortly. “You off today? We’re gonna need water, batteries, stovetop food. Gas,” he added, frowning. “I forgot to get it, what with the whole driving off the road thing.”

“You’re not kidding,” Sam said. “They’re projecting power outages through the weekend. You want to go in different directions, hit a couple of stores?”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Cas? You want to come, or do you... need a ride back?”

Castiel heard him pause, saw him swallow, and he didn’t miss the way Sam’s eyes flickered between them as he came forward. Sam’s eyes narrowed, and he stepped back before Castiel could reply. “Holy crap,” he said, gaze fixed on Castiel’s form.

He’d stepped out of the wintry light from the window, Castiel realized. And yes. Dean’s brother could definitely see him.

“What?” Dean snapped. Then he followed Sam’s gaze and stopped short. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Sam repeated incredulously. “Oh, what?”

“Nothing?” Dean tried. The attempt was obviously half-hearted.

“Either I’m hallucinating,” Sam said, still frowning, “or your creepy obsessive boyfriend glows in the dark.” His fingers pressed against his temples and he gave the rest of the upstairs a quick glance. “And yeah, no other symptoms of a migraine right now, so start talking.”

“Told you,” Dean said with a sigh.

“Indeed.” Castiel actually preferred this conversation to the one about shopping and rides. “Sam is very perceptive.”

“You glow,” Sam repeated. “In the dark. Even not in the dark. What the hell.”

“Can I tell him?” Dean asked. “Or is that like, against the code, or whatever?”

Castiel tried not to smile. “I’d be interested to see what other explanation you came up with, but no, there’s no rule against it. How many people will believe you is, of course, open to question, and I still recommend not telling anyone you don’t know. As a matter of safety.”

“S’okay,” Dean said. “Sam already thinks I’m crazy.”

“You are,” Sam said automatically. “And I can’t wait to hear your explanation for _glowing_. That kind of radiation would kill you, and after that, I’ve got nothing.”

“Come on, Sam.” Dean gave him a smirk that looked far more convincing than his earlier attempt at innocence. “Aren’t you a man of faith? Don’t you believe in angels?”

Sam matched his brother’s expression with a rueful half-smile. “I only have this conversation once a week, Dean. You’re pushing the family quota.”

“Well, surprise,” Dean said. He waved at Castiel. “Angel. You want to make a shopping list?”

“Very funny,” Sam said. “Still waiting, Dean.”

“Angel,” Dean repeated, more slowly. “Not kidding. Here to save me from the car crash. Did a decent job, too, though I still think he could have just warned me not to go that way.” He tossed Castiel a smile, which Castiel took to mean, _just kidding._

“Is this a practical joke?” Sam wanted to know. “Are you getting me back for the tofu last month?”

The question seemed to be directed at Dean, but it was Castiel he was watching. So Castiel shook his wings out, stretching them as far as they would go in a room not designed to accommodate such a thing. Sam’s gaze tracked the movement as the tip of one wing brushed the ceiling, going from Castiel’s face to his wings and back again.

“Not a joke,” Dean said, watching with his arms folded across his chest. His fingers twitched, and Castiel imagined that he was keeping himself from reaching out. Not because he had any evidence for it, but simply because he wanted to feel Dean’s hands on his wings again.

Maybe not while Sam was watching.

“Wow,” Sam said. “Okay. Wow. I’m... sorry I called you abusive, this morning?” He sounded torn between disbelief and chagrin. “I’m guessing you heard that.”

“You didn’t make much of an effort to keep it to yourself,” Castiel replied, amused. “I thought it was justified.”

“Yeah, he calls me stupid a lot,” Dean put in. “You’re taking this well.”

“Why, did you flip out?” Sam countered. “When did you find out? Why does he – uh.” He gave Castiel an awkward shrug. “Sorry. You didn’t look like that before?”

“The glowy thing is new,” Dean agreed. “He told me last week. It took a couple days before I believed him.”

“You were still surprised this morning,” Castiel corrected. “‘I thought that was a metaphor,’ you said.”

“The saving me!” Dean protested. “Not the being an angel! I totally bought that!”

“Why?” Sam asked skeptically. “Uh, no offense,” he added, glancing at Castiel.

Before either of them could answer, Sam frowned. “Hey, does Dad know? Is that why he’s suddenly all about having Castiel stick around? I knew that was weird.”

“That was him being weird all on his own,” Dean said. “He doesn’t know. I don’t think,” he said, exchanging glances with Castiel.

Castiel shook his head. “Not that he said.”

“Well, I can’t really see him bringing it up,” Sam pointed out. “‘Hey, I notice you’re an angel and you have the hots for my son. See you at dinner.’ Doesn’t sound like him.”

Then Sam glared at Dean. “Were you kidding about the quickie?”

“No,” Dean said.

“But –” Sam looked at Castiel, then back at Dean, eyebrows raised. “Seriously?”

“What,” Dean said defensively. “It’s lonely being a messenger of God. I know, okay? We bonded. Shut up.”

Castiel felt himself smiling. No, he decided. He didn’t need a ride back to his car.

“Right,” Sam said. He looked dubious, but he shrugged. “On the other hand, that’s about as convincing as most of your arguments, so. Which store do you want?”

And that was the end of it. They made lists, compared, and Sam asked Castiel if he was coming. Not “are you sticking around” or “anything else my brother needs saving from,” just “you planning to go to the grocery store with Dean?” It was unexpectedly easy to say yes. Dean looked so grateful that he couldn’t regret the decision.

He would have preferred they take his car, of course. It was much better equipped for the snow. But he knew mentioning it would make Dean worry, would make him wonder if this was the first stage of goodbye. And he couldn’t deny that the temptation to go would be far greater with Dean in the car beside him, so it was probably better all around that they stick with Dean’s plan.

At least Castiel could be relatively certain that they wouldn’t be in another accident. His knowledge of Dean’s fate extended several days in either direction, and there wouldn’t be any danger greater than cold discomfort for at least seventy-two hours. He would be long gone before that window ran out.

The first thing they did was get gas. They drove past two stations that were dark, signs outside saying “no power,” and at the third they had to wait in line. Dean let the car idle, heat going at half-strength, and looked around at the company.

“Never seen gas stations without power before,” he remarked.

Castiel had seen much worse, so he said nothing.

The second thing they did was find a grocery store. It also had no power, but by now Dean seemed to be over his surprise. Emergency lighting was in place, with plastic sheeting hung over the cold section and cardboard laid on top of the open freezer cases. Store employees were rearranging paper products to provide insulation, using cold weather products as weights to hold the sheeting in place, and generally looking more harried than Castiel was accustomed to seeing them.

Dean gathered up soup and noodles and even asked Castiel’s preference a couple of times: an odd courtesy, given the situation, but one he was happy to indulge. He tried not to think about why it was so pleasant. He could go shopping with someone else anytime, he reminded himself. Many people would be glad of the assistance. It was simply more practical for someone like him to shop alone.

The aisle containing bottled water was full of people, and Dean paused several times to speak with someone he knew. He always introduced Castiel, and all but one of the people they spoke with seemed to recognize his name. Castiel told himself that the odds of someone who knew Dean also knowing something about his father’s church were probably higher than the odds of someone who knew Dean also keeping track of his love life, but the speculation wasn’t entirely convincing.

The battery selection was depleted, but Dean seemed to find what he was looking for anyway. They moved on to ice before heading for the checkout, and Castiel’s eye was caught by a sticker pack on their way to the front of the store. He picked it up with a smile, ignoring Dean’s curious look.

It wasn’t until they were back in the car, ice stowed in the trunk – the coldest part of the car, Dean reasoned – that he asked, “Where can I put a sticker that won’t drive you crazy?”

Dean gave him a look like he was already there. “What, in the car?”

“Yes,” Castiel said patiently. “I assume I should not just stick it anywhere.”

“You assume right,” Dean said. He looked like Castiel had suggested they leave his car and walk in the freezing weather. “Why are you putting stickers on my car at all?”

“Because,” Castiel said. “I think it’s a reminder you should have.”

For some reason, this seemed to be an argument Dean wouldn’t counter. “How big a sticker are we talking?” he asked at last.

Castiel held up two fingers, and Dean sighed. “Visor,” he said, flipping the one over his head down. “You’re allowed to put one sticker on the underside of the visor where no one but me will ever see it. Don’t think this is blanket permission or anything,” he added. “I don’t want you getting ideas.”

“I know how important your car is to you.” Castiel tore the cellophane on his sticker pack – he hadn’t been sure Dean would actually let him do it – and stuffed it into the pocket of his coat.

“Yeah,” Dean said, watching him. He sounded strange. “You... uh. You saved my car, too. Don’t think I thanked you for that.”

“It would have been difficult to explain how you walked away from wreckage that severe,” Castiel said, concentrating on the sticker. He leaned across the middle of the car, aligning the sticker with the bottom right corner of the visor. The transparent background disappeared as soon as it stuck, leaving only the words scrawled across the surface.

 _Never drive faster than your guardian angel can fly._

Dean stared at it as he pulled away.

“Yeah,” he repeated a moment later. His voice sounded thick. “Yeah, maybe. But I get the feeling you’ve pulled stuff like that before.”

“Apparent miracles,” Castiel said. “Rarely what people take them for.”

“Still,” Dean said, and he cleared his throat. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Castiel said simply.

Dean reached up, presumably to put the visor back, but his hand hesitated. He pushed it forward instead, pressed up against the windshield, and started the car. “I’m gonna have to call dad eventually,” he said. “He probably thinks I’m still not talking to him.”

“Still?” Castiel repeated.

“I thought he said something to you Wednesday,” Dean said, putting his arm over the back of Castiel’s seat as they backed out. “When you didn’t come to dinner. I told him to quit screwing around in my life.”

Castiel watched Dean wait for someone to cross the parking lot. “That sounds somewhat harsher than your usual interactions with him.”

“Well, I had Sam there egging me on,” Dean said with a sigh. “Told him off, too, but Sam never stays mad. It’s like he doesn’t even notice when people yell at him. Something distracts him and suddenly everything’s all puppies and kittens again.”

“Your father told me,” Castiel reminded him quietly, “that any friend of yours was a friend of his. He said you knew this.”

Dean scoffed. “That’s his pastor talk. He thinks I’m too nice to everyone. He thinks I should give them advice and tell them what to do; keep ’em from making so many mistakes.”

He stopped abruptly, and Castiel gave him a curious look. He wasn’t surprised to hear that Dean didn’t count on his father’s support. He was surprised that Dean would refuse to share his own opinion. “And do you?” he prompted.

Dean shrugged, gesturing between them without looking away from the road. “Look at me, Cas. What do I know? Giving people advice doesn’t keep ’em from making mistakes, whether they do what I say or not. Life’s about learning from your mistakes. Not avoiding them.”

There was a brief silence while Castiel wondered if he dared ask why Dean had pointed at him. Was he a mistake? Did he want to know?

“Friend of mine at seminary used to say, you never know you’re on the path if you don’t step off it once in a while.” Dean smiled, maybe at the memory. “He dropped out. Things were more boring without him.”

“Am I a mistake?” Castiel blurted out. “Have I pulled you off the path?”

“What?” Dean sounded so genuinely surprised that he almost regretted asking. “No! You’re like, the best thing I’ve done in years. The best thing that’s happened to me, I dunno, ever.

“Why am I telling you that?” Dean added. “You should come with a warning label: ‘accidentally makes people spill their guts.’”

“Who says it’s an accident?” Castiel asked, trying not to smile.

“Yeah, whatever,” Dean muttered, but he sounded more fond than exasperated. “Your jedi mind tricks won’t work on me.”

“Oh, I beg to differ,” Castiel teased.

“You begged for something,” Dean retorted, and the smile that threatened was right there in his voice.

He would beg to stay with Dean, if he could. But there was no power in the world – or at least, none that still cared – that could hear his plea and choose to grant it. So instead he just said, “You’re my best thing, too,” and trusted Dean to understand even if he had to mock him mercilessly for it afterwards.

Dean didn’t mock him. Castiel wouldn’t have minded; he knew Dean’s teasing was a sign of affection in and of itself. He knew too that he didn’t have a way with words, that he would never be as charming and as readily trusted as Dean seemed to be. It wouldn’t be strange if Dean sought to soften his declaration with another joke.

Instead, Dean said, “Can you come back? I mean, do you ever visit? The, uh... the people you save?”

“No,” Castiel said, surprised. Then he realized how that sounded. “I haven’t. But I could.”

“Yeah?” Dean sounded so hopeful that he thought he should just stop there.

He couldn’t bring himself to add, _But it probably wouldn’t be safe._

“Yes,” he said instead. “I think such a thing would be possible.”

“Do you keep your phone?” Dean seemed to be trying very hard to sound casual, which Castiel thought was unnecessary, given that he wasn’t. They were neither of them casual about this. Which was why Castiel was still riding around in Dean’s car, hours after he’d planned to be gone and long past the last moment Dean had been in anything that might constitute danger.

“From job to job?” Dean was saying. “Or do you ditch it for a new one every time you leave town? Do you change your plates? How untraceable do you try to be?”

“That depends on how hard someone is trying to trace me,” Castiel replied. “Most of the people rooting for my capture have better ways of tracking me down.”

“Ways that haven’t been working so far,” Dean pointed out. “Not that I’m complaining, because believe me, I’m not. But at what point do they think to themselves, gee, we can’t find this guy. Maybe we should try hiring a private investigator?”

Castiel shrugged. “My brothers and sisters don’t think much of human methods. I suspect there are few who understand them well enough to make use of your resources.”

“Can I?” Dean persisted. “How do I find you?”

“You could call,” Castiel agreed, though the idea was somewhat foreign. He rarely maintained contacts for more than a month, and even that only in the case of a long-term operation. “I could... give you my new number. When I have it.”

“Yeah,” Dean said loudly. Taking a deep breath, he repeated, “Yeah. That’d be great, Cas.”

He didn’t know what else to say to that. He’d never gone back to a place where he’d carried out one of his missions while the subject of said mission was still alive. He wanted to change that, just now, this once... for Dean.

He didn’t know what it meant that Dean could seem that significant.

They didn’t discuss it further on the ride home. Once arrived, he and Dean hauled everything inside except three bags of ice. Dean shuttled them out back, arranging the other two inside the darkened refrigerator and complaining the whole time that if there was one thing they shouldn’t have to buy, it was ice.

“Come on,” he muttered. “It’s twenty degrees out. We melt some snow, we put it outside to refreeze. Presto, ice. What are we doing?”

Castiel assumed this was a rhetorical question.

Sam came home while Dean was checking his voice mail. Castiel had taken it upon himself to recharge the lanterns, flashlights, and emergency radio. He wasn’t sure Dean realized what he was doing, but it seemed a waste to use new batteries when refreshing the old ones was simply a matter of reversing the electron gradient.

It also allowed him to stay close enough to observe Dean’s expression without staring, which was exactly what Sam did when he came in. “What, now?” he demanded, transferring his gaze to Castiel before setting his canvas bags down by the counter. “Now he answers his phone, checks his voice mail, whatever? He couldn’t have done that an hour ago?”

Castiel thought back. “I believe his phone was downstairs,” he said at last. Surely Sam had guessed this, but if he insisted on asking, Castiel didn’t mind telling him. “We were not. Dean expressed concern that you would consider the couch abused if we didn’t relocate.”

“Whoa, don’t need to know,” Sam protested, holding up a hand like he could ward the information off. “And also, yeah. Say no to couch abuse; we have a deal. Dean knows what he’s talking about.”

Sam paused, shaking his head. “I can’t believe I just said that.”

“You’re welcome,” Dean said, phone still pressed to his ear. “Did Dad tell you he called twice?”

“He thinks you’re pissed,” Sam said.

“Yeah,” Dean said with a sigh. “I figured.”

“Are you?” Sam asked bluntly. “What did he do, anyway?”

Dean turned his head a little, apparently still listening, and Sam glanced at Castiel.

“He told me I was welcome to stay,” Castiel offered. “If it’s Wednesday you’re talking about, we spoke while I was cleaning up from the roof work. He invited me to remain in town through the holidays.”

“Because the town is like his house,” Dean complained, turning back enough to participate even though he clearly wasn’t going to hang up. “He gets to decide who’s here and for how long.”

“Hey,” Sam said suddenly. “Was the roof thing... what was that? I’m guessing the church didn’t really send you.”

“I did some research on your town,” Castiel said. “I thought the roof project was something I could plausibly claim knowledge of, offer my assistance with, and drag out until the time came to intervene on Dean’s behalf. I didn’t realize at first that it would put me in such a position to gain Dean’s trust.”

“Lucky,” Dean said with a snort. “In all the churches in all the towns in all the world...”

“I did know you were associated with it,” Castiel said. “I just didn’t realize the pastor would introduce me to you at a family dinner the same evening I arrived.”

“How do you usually find people?” Dean asked. He still held his phone as though he was listening, but whoever had left this particular message didn’t seem to be as interesting as Castiel’s answer.

“Sam,” Dean added, pointing as his phone. “I already know what he’s gonna say.”

“Hey,” Sam protested. “Running over here to check on you wasn’t my first thought, okay?”

“I look for them,” Castiel said. “Unlike my brothers and sisters, I am familiar with the concept of the internet.”

“Do any of them have a sense of humor?” Dean wanted to know.

Castiel smiled a little. “Rarely.”

“Your brothers and sisters?” Sam repeated. “Angels? You have angel sisters?”

“Down, boy,” Dean said. “You already have more than your share.”

Sam gave him a dirty look.

“Gender is an ambiguous concept in heaven,” Castiel said. “But yes, there are angels who choose to use feminine pronouns when interacting with humanity.”

He didn’t miss the wary look Dean sent him. “You’re a guy,” Dean said. As though saying it would make it more true.

“If you like,” Castiel agreed.

Dean looked down at his phone, pushing a button and putting it to his ear again. He didn’t answer. Sam looked like he was smirking, and the look he sent from Dean to Castiel and back again said that Dean would be hearing about this later. When Castiel wasn’t around.

Castiel thought the fact Dean didn’t argue meant he was closer to understanding than he’d expected. He might not know what to ask next, but if he’d been convinced otherwise he wouldn’t have let it go for the sake of politeness. Not even in front of his brother.

“I’m calling Dad,” Dean said abruptly. “No one say anything to me about angels or sex while I’m on the phone. Unless it’s you,” he added, catching Castiel’s eye, “and it’s important.”

Sam made a sound that Castiel was inclined to believe meant, _Figures._

Dean just glared at him.

He turned away when the phone connected, and Castiel could tell right away that it wasn’t voice mail. That, however, was the moment Sam chose to ask him about heaven. He found that explaining his self-imposed exile was no easy task when it involved anyone other than Dean – something he had expected, until last week, when Dean changed everything he knew.

“Good news,” Dean said, closing his phone. The rescue was welcome, and Castiel looked at him with perhaps more interest than the remark merited.

“Dad’s got the generator going at the church,” Dean continued, “and he thinks we can open it up by this afternoon. Just for local people: people who can’t be far away from their homes, people who won’t go to shelters without their pets. Hopefully there’s only a few in town. Dad figures he can keep them busy getting ready for the holiday fair tomorrow.”

“Yeah, he can’t,” Sam said. “And that generator isn’t going to handle a bunch of people actually living at the church. He knows that, right? I’ve told him that several times.”

“He’s gonna prioritize heat,” Dean said. “Turn it off, fill the water tank. Turn it back on, use up the water. Repeat.

“I know,” he added, when Sam opened his mouth. “I know, it’s complicated, or whatever. He’s happy, I didn’t ask. As long as he doesn’t burn the place down, we’re probably okay.”

“I’m going over there,” Sam said. “He needs help.”

“Yeah,” Dean admitted. “It kind of sounds like it.” Glancing at Castiel, he asked, “What do you think?”

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know enough about the situation to estimate the electrical load.”

Dean smiled at that. “I mean, you wanna come? I’m not at work, I might as well be doing something useful. Plus it’s freezing here.”

“And dark,” Sam muttered. “At least at the church we’ll be able to see what we’re doing.”

“Oh, is he allowed to run lights with the heat?” Dean asked pointedly.

“Lights don’t count,” Sam told him. “You know that.”

Dean shrugged. “You said, heat and nothing else. I was just checking.”

“I’m gonna go get another sweater and some boots,” Sam said. “If we’re all going, I’m driving. You’ve already had your car issue for the morning.”

“Issue?” Dean repeated. “A utility pole came down beside my car; how is that my fault?”

“Did you tell Dad?” Sam wanted to know.

“Did you hear me tell Dad?” Dean countered.

“I was talking to Castiel,” Sam said.

“No,” Dean said. “I didn’t tell him, okay? He already complains enough about how I treat the car; I’m not gonna tell him I ran her off the road.”

“Dean.” Sam was giving him a look. “A utility pole came down beside the car. How is that your fault.”

“Oh, he’ll make it my fault,” Dean grumbled. “He’ll find a way.

“It wasn’t your fault!” Sam repeated. “Besides, Stacy knows what happened. Castiel knows. And I told Jess already. Dad’s gonna find out; you might as well be the one to tell him.”

“That’s a stupid argument,” Dean snapped. “I’m not gonna go telling people stuff just because they might find out on their own. I told him I’m fine, and I am. The car’s none of his business.”

Sam lifted his hands. “Okay,” he said. “Fine. So I won’t mention it around him. I’ll tell Jess.”

“Whatever,” Dean muttered.

Sam shook his head, but he went for the stairs without further argument.

“So,” Dean said, glancing at Castiel.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel offered. He knew Dean’s family was an important but carefully balanced dynamic in his life. “It appears I’ve...” He couldn’t be sure exactly what he’d done, but he didn’t like to see it causing Dean distress.

“Messed up my family?” Dean suggested. “Nah. We were like this long before you showed up, and we get along okay. Sometimes we even have the crazy idea to get everyone together for a holiday or something. It never goes well, but we’re all still talking to each other. So.” He shrugged.

“I suppose,” Castiel said carefully, “that you’re ahead of my family in that respect.”

“Yeah,” Dean said. Then he paused. “You don’t talk to... your dad, either?”

“Either?” Castiel repeated.

“Do you talk to any of your...” Dean frowned. “Well. I didn’t think you were talking to any of your – any of the other angels. I knew you were kind of mad at, uh, God, but a lot of people talk to him anyway, you know? So I was just curious.

“Not face to face,” Dean added, when Castiel just looked at him. “I mean – I guess you can’t exactly call him, right? But you could –”

He stopped again, and Castiel took pity on him. “Pray to him?” he said. “I’ve never met my father. I’ve never had any word from him that wasn’t passed on by brothers and sisters far higher than I on the celestial chain of command.”

“The chain of command,” Dean said. “Huh. Sounds weirdly familiar.”

Castiel sighed. “Some of your religious institutions do take after heaven to an unfortunate degree.”

Dean looked like he wanted to smile. “Too bad,” he said. “Taking after heaven like that.”

Castiel didn’t find it amusing, but Dean was so obviously trying to contain his own mirth for Castiel’s sake that he couldn’t help but smile. “Your heaven is a concept,” he said. “Mine is a practical thing, and I assure you, it has its problems like any other.”

“Tell you the truth?” Dean said. “That’s not so different from my concept. I mean, all that peace and contentment and stuff. Who’d ever get anything done?”

Castiel tilted his head, curious, and Dean shrugged. “It’s fine to say we want all our problems to go away, but if we didn’t have any, what would we do? The only thing that makes us get stuff done is need, or want. Hope, like you said. The idea that things can be different. If we didn’t want anything to change, why would we do anything?”

“Because –” He stopped, and Dean raised his eyebrows.

“Because,” Castiel said, more slowly. “We’re told to.”

Dean’s voice was quiet as Sam came back down the stairs. “You say that like you’re not sure.”

It was Castiel’s turn to shrug, imitating him. “I’m here,” he pointed out.

“You weren’t told to be here?” Dean guessed.

Castiel shook his head, and Sam was going over to the closet and rummaging around for something. Very obviously not interrupting. “I was told with some specificity that I should not do what I’m doing,” he said. “My decisions are not considered... valid.”

“Divine,” Dean said. “You’re saying you’re not the word of God.”

“No one is the word of God,” Castiel said, with a bitterness that he shouldn’t have allowed. “Not even God himself. I don’t know how my family can claim to interpret something that no longer exists.”

Sam had stopped pretending not to listen and was leaning against the closet doorframe. He didn’t say anything when Castiel looked over at him. “You don’t have to wait,” Castiel said. “There’s no need for you to suffer my crisis of faith.”

The corner of Sam’s mouth quirked. “Me and crises of faith are old friends,” he said. “Talking to Dean usually helps. You want me to go?”

“If you wish,” Castiel said.

“No,” Dean said. “No, Sam’s a great example: he’s my brother, right? And our Dad is... well, we don’t always do what he wants us to.”

Sam snorted at that.

“But he still loves us,” Dean said. “Parents love their kids, Cas. He loves us, and he’s proud of us, and we’re what he’s gonna leave behind. He knows that. That’s why sometimes he tries to... to push us into things. Because we’re a reflection of him.”

“We’re not,” Sam said. Not angrily, just like it was a statement of fact. “We make our own decisions.”

“So does Cas,” Dean said. “Which I guess is kind of unusual. Am I right?”

Castiel tried to stand up straight, tried not to hunch in on himself. “I’m not the first to... choose.” It was a cruel, two-sided word, but it was better than most of the others. “I remain unpunished only because I haven’t been caught.”

“No one’s gonna catch you,” Dean told him. “You’re allowed to go your own way. What you want matters; your decisions matter, and people care. Just because it’s not the one person you wanted to care, or because they don’t show it the way you want them to, that doesn’t mean you haven’t done something worthwhile.”

“We have no way to judge the worth of something if God didn’t command it,” Castiel said.

“Then how do you decide who to save?” Dean insisted. “Do you just flip a coin? Stick a thumbtack on the map? I mean,” and he smiled a little, “I get that that explains me, but what about everyone else?”

“Yes,” Castiel said honestly.

Dean blinked. “Yes, you choose people at random?”

Castiel nodded.

Instead of fading, Dean’s smile widened and he laughed. “That’s so appropriate,” he said. “I was saved by accident. Do you know,” he added, “that actually makes me feel better? Takes the pressure off. If I live to be a hundred and never do anything more than what I’m doing right now, I don’t have to worry that I missed my calling or something.”

“But what you’re doing now is important,” Castiel said, puzzled when Dean just gave him a fond look.

“Funny,” he said. “I’d have said the same thing about you.”

Castiel considered that. “I think you’re somewhat biased.”

He saw, out of the corner of his eye, that Sam looked startled. Dean only laughed again. “You bet I am,” he agreed. “That’s the whole point. What you did mattered to me, Cas. No one told you to do it; you just decided to do it and I’m grateful.

“I know it’s not my gratitude you were looking for,” Dean added, “but you’ve got it, and I think it counts for something.”

“More than something,” Castiel murmured.

“Mine too,” Sam said, almost at the same time. He cleared his throat when they both looked at him. “I mean, I’m glad too. That you saved Dean. And so are a lot of other people.”

“Okay,” Dean said. He sounded awkward. “So, there you go. You rock.”

“I don’t believe that was the question,” Castiel said, amused by his discomfort.

“You don’t believe it, though,” Dean said, watching him through narrowed eyes.

“You don’t believe it’s true of you, either,” Castiel said. “So I think that’s not an argument we should have.”

“Seriously?” Sam said. “We’re seriously having this conversation? Dean, you’re a terrible role model if you think you suck, and Castiel, I don’t know what kind of martyr complex you have but don’t encourage Dean. You’re both awesome. Can we go now?”

“Yeah,” Dean said quickly, but he didn’t move. “Cas? You coming?”

If he said no, he wasn’t sure Dean would go at all. Even after dropping him off. Maybe especially after dropping him off. He knew he shouldn’t be happy about that, shouldn’t want Dean to leave all of this behind, but right now? Saying yes was the path of least resistance.

“Yes,” Castiel said.

Dean brightened noticeably, and for one brief moment Castiel regretted nothing.

The church was already lit by the time they got there. There was muted light visible through the windows of the community room, even in full daylight. The sign out front had been changed again: it now read, “God’s power is your power.”

Inside they found Pastor John – and to Castiel’s surprise, Allan.

“Dean,” the pastor said, taking one look at their group and focusing on the one he had least reason to think would respond. Castiel didn’t know what that meant, but he guessed it wasn’t really his concern.

His guess seemed more wrong when John immediately glanced at him before nodding to Sam. “Sam,” he added. “Castiel. Castiel, you know Allan. Allan, my sons, Sam and Dean.”

“Hey,” Sam said, stepping forward to offer his hand. He and Dean exchanged greetings with Allan, noisy and genial, but Castiel thought that John looked at him as much as he watched them.

“Hey, Castiel,” Allan said, surprising him. He wasn’t used to meeting people again. “Guess we got that roof done just in time.”

“Indeed,” Castiel agreed. Allan held out his hand again, so Castiel also shook it. “The timing was very fortunate.”

He could feel Dean’s eyes on him, but John was already speaking to him, asking him if he was all right, and Dean looked away. “Dad,” he said. “I’m fine. I told you on the phone.”

“I saw Sam’s car pull in,” John said. “Since when are you too sick to drive?”

“I’m not sick,” Dean said. “I told you, I took a personal day. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“A personal day,” John repeated. His gaze flicked to Castiel. “I see.”

“Don’t start,” Dean said. “Sam wanted to come over and make sure you didn’t overload the generator. You need help with anything here?” His tone indicated that he’d be happy to leave if John didn’t need help, but of course, John managed to find something.

Castiel had expected to be given a task that separated him from Dean, but to his surprise, they both ended up stockpiling water in the kitchen. John wasn’t running the heat, as it turned out. He had the water pump going, though, and Castiel was relatively certain that two people weren’t required for this activity. He didn’t protest.

He also didn’t protest when Dean decided they were going down to the basement to find the lanterns, check and replace batteries, and distribute them throughout the church. It was more of a challenge than it would normally have been, given that they were apparently only allowed to turn on lights on the first floor. Something about the connection, Sam said, when Dean yelled out back to ask. Since Sam was the one standing out in the wind and snow, Dean said he’d take his word for it.

This led to some very pleasant moments fumbling around in the darkened basement, which was ironically warmer than the rest of the building. The ground was a good insulator. Dean knew where everything was, and Castiel could tell even without light, so they probably didn’t have to bump into each other as much as they did. But it was a good excuse for whispered reassurances, make-up kissing, and some amount of groping.

Plus, Dean said, he could see Castiel’s wings better in the dark. Castiel wasn’t sure why this would be true, but Dean certainly proved it with his hands. So, maybe a lot of groping. No one came down to find them, and Castiel wasn’t sure whether that was because everyone knew what they were doing or because no one did.

By the time they made it back upstairs, Sam and John were inside again and the heat was running. Allan had left – to check on things back home, John said – and John was wrestling Christmas decorations into the community room. Sam was being remarkably little help, talking on the phone while he looked through the boxes and made faces at his dad that were apparently supposed to convey whether he thought the decorations were useful or not.

“For decorating the tree?” Dean guessed, when Castiel whispered the question, _useful for what?_

Dean called Kylen while Sam was on the phone with whoever, and John asked Castiel if he’d mind holding a flashlight. They were still on limited light, it seemed. Castiel had thought the reason light “didn’t count” was that it used so little power relative to heat or water, but maybe the building’s circuits were such that they could only electrify certain areas. Or only a certain number of areas at a time?

Castiel would have asked, simply as a matter of curiosity, except that John seemed intent on apologizing to him for a non-existent offense. “You said nothing wrong,” he assured Dean’s father. “Had I realized that Dean would take my absence at dinner personally, I would have accepted your invitation without hesitation.”

“He thinks I scared you off,” John said bluntly. “Any truth to that?”

“Nothing could be farther from the truth,” Castiel told him. “I believe Dean is now aware of this as well.”

“He’s not acting like it,” John grumbled. He pushed the flashlight a little to one side as he opened another box. “It’s a rare day when I get along better with Sam than I do with Dean, I can tell you that.”

“Perhaps Sam is enjoying the attention,” Castiel said without thinking.

John went still. “What did you say?”

“I only meant that... both your sons love you very much,” Castiel said carefully. “Just because Sam has chosen a different path doesn’t mean that he doesn’t want your approval.”

“Look, Castiel.” John didn’t sound amused. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for the church, and I know Dean likes you. I like you. But spending a week with my family doesn’t make you an expert on us.”

Were he still in “cover” mode, he might have apologized. He might have said that he didn’t mean to overstep. If he were still in cover mode it might even have been true, but he wasn’t. He was long past trying to get close to Dean through inanity and deceit. His service to Dean was done, and if anything remained it was service with Dean.

“Spending a lifetime with them hasn’t made you an expert either,” he said. “Dean and Sam would do anything for you, and I believe you would do anything for them. It’s equally clear to me that they don’t realize this. They live with the perpetual fear that you are somehow disappointed in them.

“If I might give you some advice,” Castiel continued, “and I’m aware that you’d rather I didn’t, I would suggest telling them how proud you are to be their father. It would be the best Christmas gift they could receive.”

“Why don’t you carry this,” John said, dropping a box into his arms before he had a chance to lower the flashlight. It made no difference to him, of course, but John seemed disgruntled when he didn’t flinch. “Sam’s waiting for it,” John said. “I’ll be along in a minute.”

Castiel didn’t miss the unspoken instruction to go, and he was happy to oblige. He doubted Dean would be happy to hear of this conversation, though he would of course tell him immediately. Dean seemed to equate secrets with a lack of personal connection, and Castiel was already out of time to correct such a misperception.

“It’s entirely possible that your father is no longer speaking to me,” he announced as he entered the community room.

“Oh, hey,” Sam said. “You found the tinsel.”

Castiel surrendered the box, eyes fixed on Dean. Dean looked more relieved than anything, and all he said was, “As long as you’re still speaking to me, I’m okay with that.”

Castiel tilted his head. “Wasn’t one of your criteria for family relations that everyone remain on speaking terms?” he asked.

“Long term,” Dean said, but he was smiling. “Don’t worry. This happens all the time.”

“I try to keep it to twice a week,” Sam put in.

“It’s part of the family dynamic,” Dean said. “You’re like one of us now.”

“Hey, Dad,” Sam added, and Castiel glanced around to see John coming into the room. “Thanks for the tinsel.”

“Kylen says he and Chris can come over,” Dean said. “I think they just want to get out of the house, but they could help out in the kitchen. What do you think about making food for people tonight?”

“I think –” John looked from one of them to the other, briefly uncertain gaze including Castiel. “We’re going to to need some food, first.”

Dean volunteered, so of course Castiel went too. It was their second time pushing a cart around a grocery store that day, and Dean must have caught on to Castiel’s trick with the batteries because they didn’t end up with extras for the church lanterns. They bought bulk soup at what Dean called “the college market,” plus some family-sized loaves of bread and a large container of peanut butter.

“Trust me,” Dean said. “Everyone will eat it, and some kids will only eat it. If it weren’t for peanut allergies, it would be the solution to every problem.”

They bought paper bowls and plastic cups, too.

When they got back to the church, there were three more cars in the parking lot, including a truck with branches that a couple of teenagers were helping to offload. Castiel recognized Chris and Claudia, wondering briefly why they weren’t in school before he remembered the long list of cancellations that morning. They both called hello, but it was Jake who came out of the church to help them bring in the groceries.

Jake ended up carrying the soup, which was fortunate because Castiel didn’t get through the door before he dropped the bread and paper bowls and grabbed Dean’s arm hard enough that the peanut butter almost landed on top of them. “Dean,” he said. It wasn’t safe. They needed to leave.

“Hey,” Dean said, transferring everything to his other arm and trying to pat Castiel’s shoulder reassuringly.

Trying, because Castiel couldn’t let go of his arm. He shouldn’t have stayed. This entire town would pay the price.

“You okay?” Dean was asking. “Jake, get that inside. We’ll be right there.”

Castiel shook his head. They couldn’t go in.

“Sure thing,” Jake said. “I’ll come back and get your stuff in a minute.” And he was gone, with no more question than that.

Castiel heard Claudia calling to them from the truck, asking if they were okay, and he didn’t know why he let Dean urge him gently through the door. They should run – but where? There wasn’t anywhere they could go that an archangel couldn’t follow. They only reason they weren’t dead already was... a mystery.

“You wanna have a seat?” Dean asked. “You want food, or something to drink, or – anything? Will warming up help?

“Hey, Sam,” he added, waving to his brother by the mostly decorated tree. A pretty woman was helping him, brown hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, bomber jacket over flannel to compensate for the still cool room. “Who’s your friend?”

“Don’t you know her?” Sam poked his head around the far side of the tree, looking between them. “Gabby here said she was waiting for you.”

“Gabriel,” Castiel said aloud. It was the most terrifying observation he’d made in years.

Dean, to his credit, got it immediately. “No way,” he said, stepping in between them without a second thought. “Gabriel, like... your Gabriel?”

“Oh, please.” The woman Sam had introduced as “Gabby” gave them both a dismissive look. “I’m not anyone’s Gabriel, and wow, you’re Dean? Really, Castiel. He’s not even that hot. If you’re gonna stick around for nookie, you could’ve found someone better looking.”

“Outside,” Dean said. “Both of you. Right now.”

“I don’t think so,” Gabriel said. “Sam’s here. I like watching Sam.”

Jake was on his way back from the kitchen. He grabbed the bag Dean still held on his way past and met Claudia at the door after she’d picked up Castiel’s. He gave them all curious looks in both directions – coming and going – but he didn’t ask. Even when “Gabby” followed him with eyes that looked like they’d as soon turn him into a frog as look at him.

She would, too. Archangels had no attachment to humanity.

“Well, I don’t like you watching Sam,” Dean said. “Cas?”

“Ooh, Cas,” Gabriel mocked. “That’s so _not_ adorable.”

“Uh, guys?” Sam said. “What’s going on?”

“Eyes on the tree, Sammy.” Gabriel didn’t so much as glance at him, most of her attention apparently on Castiel. “The adults are talking. Or, should I say, the adult and the child.”

“Not a child,” Dean snapped. “How did you even get here?”

“Oh, Dean-o, you’re definitely not the child,” Gabriel said. “You’re like the annoying insect that Castiel here has taken a shine to. And doesn’t that just mess up all my plans.”

“Okay, who did you say you were?” Sam asked, coming out from around the tree.

“Angel,” Dean said tersely. “After Cas. What, you can’t attack him here because it’s holy ground or something?”

“If I wanted to attack him,” Gabriel said, “this whole town would be a smoking crater, thank you very much.

“No,” she continued. “I’m here because I actually kind of like him, and also, I can’t have the other angels setting a bad precedent. Smiting the fallen? So two ages ago. We go back to that, and guess whose head ends up on the chopping block.

“Well, not mine,” she added. “But possibly one that looks like mine, while I’m making a quick escape to somewhere warm and tropical. On another planet.”

“An angel?” Sam said. “Gabriel? Not the archangel Gabriel.”

“Not to you, dollface,” Gabriel said. She still didn’t look at him. “I told you, you can call me Gabby. Oh, and Sarah’s hot, but Jess is a little whiny. We’re gonna have to talk about that.”

“Yes,” Castiel said, because Gabriel was right. If she wanted wanted him dead, the town would already be gone. “Gabriel, the voice of God, absent these last millennia. I’m uncertain what interest she could possibly have in the current situation.”

“What, I can’t be quirky and offbeat?” she demanded. “I can’t like the indie angels? The man’s on to you, by the way. You can’t just throw grace around like that and then reach out to heaven like no one’s listening. I wasn’t and I still noticed. You can imagine what a kerfuffle they’re having upstairs.”

“Enlighten us,” Dean said.

“I said, use your imagination,” Gabriel retorted. “I’m not heaven’s messenger.

“Oh, wait,” she added, her mouth twisting in a smirk.

“She’s been... gone,” Castiel said. “Missing. No one knew where.”

“Like anyone keeps track of us anyway.” Gabriel looked disgusted, which was a terrifying expression on someone like her. “Michael’s been having a sulk about something for decades, but does anyone ask? No. They’re so glad he’s not all up in their business that they just pretend everything’s fine.”

“How do you know that?” Castiel asked. Something about Dean’s frown made him more audacious. It certainly wasn’t his place to question an archangel, but Dean had already made it clear that he had no such qualms.

“Hello,” Gabriel said, rolling her eyes. “Archangel here. Just because you can’t see me doesn’t mean I can’t see you.

“Not that I pay that much attention,” she added. “Just to be clear, heaven is filled with the most unoriginal part of creation. Dad’s little soldiers. Not designed to have their own will, just there to carry out his plan.

“And you,” she said to Dean. “You wonder why we fall. You, who can’t go eight seconds without changing your mind about something, who question the tiniest of details like they matter, like you can control the master plan by deciding to turn left instead of right. Well, news flash, kiddo! God has left the building! The only master plan is yours, and from what I can see? It sucks.”

Gabriel folded her arms and glared at Dean, who stared right back. Castiel wanted to hide, to grovel, to do whatever it took to make the wrath of an archangel pass over him – but Dean just stood there, looking unimpressed. And Castiel would stand at his side. Whatever happened. It was the only place he had, now.

“You know what,” Dean said, “I do wonder why you fall. Been wondering ever since Cas here said he couldn’t go home. Not because it’s weird that you’d want to make a decision, that you’d see someone in trouble and think, ‘hey, I could do something about that.’ What’s weird to me is that anyone – God or otherwise – would kick you out of heaven for it.”

“Oh, like humanity has such a stellar track record when it comes to decision-making,” Gabriel scoffed. “You can’t even imagine the chaos the littlest angel could create if she decided to go rogue. This one,” she added, with a scathing glance at Castiel, “is no example of heaven’s fury.”

“I think he is,” Dean said. _Interrupting_ Gabriel. “I think that’s the whole point of free will. That everyone makes decisions, and all those decisions matter. Not just the bad ones, but the good ones too. For every time you show up somewhere talking about smiting people and turning towns into smoking craters, Cas shows up somewhere else fixing roofs and saving people.”

“You think that matters?” Gabriel sneered. “You think anyone cares?”

“I’m not done,” Dean snapped. “It’s fine to say everything’s going to hell in a handbasket and you might as well get in on the party, but you know what? That’s not inevitable. That’s your choice. We’re human; we get to make that choice for ourselves – and so do you. You and Cas are proof of that. So try choosing something else. Try doing something good for yourself, instead of for God.”

“Right,” Gabriel said. Her face was cold and distant now, and Castiel wondered what was worse than death because he was pretty sure they were about to find out. “Like you do, Deanie boy. All those good things you do because you made the decision for yourself, instead of following the rule book, or your Daddy’s advice –”

“He knows,” Castiel heard himself say. Why was he talking? “Don’t tell him he doesn’t know what our family is like, Gabriel. He knows.”

“I’m here to defend you,” Gabriel said, dismissing him with barely a look. “Show some respect.”

“You don’t,” Castiel said. He didn’t know how he could still form the words. “Why should we give what you will not?”

“Because.” Gabriel was answering, and the terror wasn’t worth the reminder. “I could crush you without even noticing. By accident. I didn’t run away, little brother. I walked out. Because there’s no one left in heaven to care. Show me someone who could stop me and I’ll show you respect.”

“Yeah,” Sam scoffed. His tone of voice indicated that he thought the opposite. “I doubt that. Respect is a habit, like anything else. I know because I lost it, and believe me, I know the signs. You’re so convinced no one cares that you pretend you don’t either. You can’t just turn that back on.”

“I don’t have to care to recognize a threat when I see one,” Gabriel snapped, but Sam didn’t back down.

“I think you do,” he said, taking a step closer to her. “I think apathy’s a dangerous thing, Gabriel, but you wouldn’t be here if you had it. You wouldn’t care that Castiel –”

“I don’t care about Castiel,” Gabriel interrupted.

“Could be your canary,” Sam said, not bothering to stop when she spoke. “You wouldn’t care that you could die if the other angels gang up on you, if God’s not as gone as you think he is, if maybe your choices actually do matter and it turns out the ones you’ve been making suck. Because you know what else takes practice?”

“No one asked you!” Gabriel exclaimed, clearly exasperated. Yet there was still no sign of her power. Even her wings were suppressed – Castiel was relatively certain that no matter what angel recognition skills Dean and Sam shared, they would have had no idea who they were talking to without him.

Of course, without him, they probably wouldn't have found themselves talking to her at all.

“Choices,” Sam said. “Free will. Being your own person, making your own decisions. You don’t just wake up one day knowing how to do it; am I right? The first time it’s an accident, it’s terrifying, you hope no one finds out. Then there’s something really important and it occurs to you: you could do something about it.”

“Shut up,” Gabriel snapped. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“So you do,” Sam said, raising his voice. “You do something and it goes wrong, or something else does, and you think you have to fix it but you can’t. You can’t fix everything, but the alternative is to do nothing so you have to try!”

“Trying is for losers!” Gabriel shouted. “I can do anything!”

“But you don’t!” Sam yelled back. “You’re just scared! You just hide and hope no one will notice you and that sucks, Gabriel! We’ve been working our butts off down here and you just gave up!”

“Do you know what happened the last time I made a choice?” Gabriel said furiously. “I destroyed the world! I killed my own kid! There’s no forgiveness for that!”

Castiel stared at her. He could feel Dean bristle at his side, but Sam just stared her down. “If I believed anything was unforgivable,” he said steadily, “I wouldn’t keep coming back here. Everything takes practice, Gabriel. Even making the right decision.”

“Especially making the right decision,” Dean muttered. Irreverent to the end. Even facing certain destruction, he had no concept of when to stop talking.

Gabriel lifted her hand, still staring at Sam, but the snap that was coming was clearly intended for Dean. There was nothing Castiel could do, but he stepped in front of Dean anyway. He and Gabriel both stared at Castiel’s hand, now covering Gabriel’s fingers.

“Oh,” Gabriel said, lifting his gaze to Castiel’s. “You’re gonna regret that.”

“Gabriel,” Sam said. “Practice.”

“Screw that,” Gabriel said. “You losers can fend for yourselves.”

She disappeared.


	5. Chapter 5

Castiel stared at his hand, then at Dean. Both were still there. He looked for Sam, found him looking irritated but present, and then he took in the rest of the church. It was, with the exception of John standing in the doorway and several of Dean’s kids looking on from opposite ends of the community room, exactly as it had been minutes before.

He stretched his awareness out, past the walls of the building, out onto the streets and across the town. Other than Dean batting absently at his wings as they rose, he felt nothing unusual. “She’s gone,” he said.

She’d left her mark behind, though. There was the distinct remnant of angelic protection on the church. Castiel couldn’t tell if it would help or hurt, but right now, Gabriel’s absence alone was more than they could have asked.

“Someone want to tell me what’s going on?” John’s voice asked.

Castiel drew his wings in abruptly. He felt Dean snatch his hand back, saw him and Sam exchange glances. He said nothing, relatively certain that it wasn’t his opinion that was being sought.

Instead of answering his father, though, Dean edged closer to him and murmured, “You okay?”

“I’m endangering you,” Castiel replied quietly. “I should go.”

“Like hell,” Dean said, fierce and sure. “You aren’t going anywhere alone. Are they all crazy, or is it just the archangels?”

“Dean,” John said. “Is someone in danger?”

“You’re all in danger,” Castiel said. “I shouldn’t have stayed.”

“Don’t go,” Dean said. “They already know where you are; it can’t be any better if you’re alone. Plus you won’t have Sammy to yell at them for you.”

“I won’t have either of you hurt for me,” Castiel said.

“I’ll follow you,” Dean told him. “You promised you wouldn’t leave without telling me, and I’m not letting you go without help. Even if I’m not any help,” he added, before Castiel could say it.

“Look, if we’re calling the police, someone needs to tell me,” John said. “No one’s getting hurt here.”

“Dad,” Sam said. “No offense, but you have no idea what’s going on.”

“So tell me,” John demanded. He’d come into the room, but he was keeping a reasonable distance. For a human. There wasn’t much in the way of reasonable distance when it came to angels. Gabriel’s “on another planet” was probably the closest thing they had.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Dean said. “Cas is convinced that the more people know, the more danger we’ll be in. And since he’s the one who knows what we’re dealing with, I’m thinking we should listen to him.”

Castiel couldn’t keep himself from observing, “If you actually believe that, this is the first I’ve heard of it.”

Luckily, he was mostly drowned out by John complaining that he wasn’t inclined to trust a stranger over his own family, that he knew Dean’s tendency to get himself mixed up in things, and that there were more people than just the four of them at the church right now. Which Castiel thought the teens were hoping they wouldn’t remember, since every one of them that he could see looked more fascinated than afraid.

They’d seen Gabriel disappear, he supposed. Of course they would be interested.

“Cas,” Dean said. “This is usually where Sam and Dad get in a fight over something that has nothing to do with what’s going on and I make myself crazy trying to get them both to shut up. Before we do that, are you going to sneak off or not?”

Castiel knew that smiling wasn’t the appropriate response, but suddenly he wanted to see Dean’s mother one more time. Before he went. So that he could thank her. Dean emulated his father in many ways, but it was clear to Castiel that his self-awareness came from somewhere else.

“Why,” he asked, “would I tell you if I was about to leave without alerting you?”

“Because I asked you,” Dean replied.

And that, unfortunately, was an answer that would give him pause. That did give him pause. “What would it change?” he asked quietly.

“Well, for one thing, I’d let Sam and Dad fight and I’d follow you,” Dean said. “If you don’t go, I’m gonna stay here and tell Dad what’s going on, because even if he doesn’t believe me at least he’ll think I’m crazy instead of lying to him. That’s gotta be better for family relations.”

Castiel let his gaze slide past Dean to land, deliberately, on John. “I’m not sure,” he said, “that even you know how much your sons care about you.”

John stared back at him for a long moment. “Don’t go,” he said at last. “Whatever you’re running from, we can help. Dean must have told you that.”

“There’s angels after him,” Dean blurted out. “The police can’t help with this one, Dad.”

“Right,” John said. “And what’d he do to make angels angry?”

“I gave up heaven,” Castiel said. “I saved your son. It wasn’t God’s will, and he wasn’t the first. The heavenly host doesn’t look kindly upon rebellion.”

“You’re a rebel angel,” John said flatly. “Like Satan.”

“Dad!” Dean exclaimed. “He saved my life!”

“In exchange for what?” John demanded.

“Nothing!” Dean shot back. “This is his thing; he goes and he saves people and then he disappears! I had to beg him to stick around this long, and I gotta tell you, you’re not making it any easier!”

“Okay, wait a second,” Sam said, holding up a hand. “Dad – you just believe this? Angels are real, and you’re totally okay with that? Since when?”

“Of course angels are real,” John said. “What, you think everything I preach is just words on a page? Just because you don’t buy it, Sam, don’t put that on me. Some of us have faith.”

“Just because I don’t have your faith doesn’t mean I don’t have any,” Sam retorted. “I’m not the one comparing the guy who saved my brother to Satan!”

“What did Dean need saving from before Castiel came along?” John demanded. “Nothing.”

“I called in today because the Impala went off the road,” Dean said impatiently. “Two trees and a utility pole and I walked away. Because of Cas. He tried to leave after that, said he’d done what he came to do, and I was the one who asked him to stay. So I could make sure he was all right.

“He’s not the freakin’ devil, Dad. He’s just a guy who has as much faith in humanity as he does in God. If God made all of us to be the way we are, I really don’t have a problem with that.”

“Hey,” Claudia said from the doorway. “You guys, sorry to interrupt, but – there’s a car pulling in.”

“If this church is in danger because we’re harboring him,” John began.

“If he leaves, I leave,” Dean said.

“You’re safer here,” Sam said. Castiel didn’t realize until he glanced at him that Sam was looking at him, not Dean. “Right? Gabriel did something to the building, didn’t she. It kind of... glows.”

Castiel looked at Dean in surprise, and Dean nodded once. “Yeah,” he said shortly. “Can’t tell if it’s good or bad, but I can see it.”

“Neither can I,” Castiel admitted. “I believe it was meant as a form of protection. I’m just not sure it will work that way in the long term: it does tend to draw attention, after all, and I don’t think that’s what you want.”

“Is it?” Sam asked pointedly.

“No,” Castiel said with a sigh. “It’s not.”

“Hi, Mrs. Johnson!” Claudia called from the doorway. “You brought Kalim and Deirdre! Hey, do either of you want to help with our big brush bonfire? It’s going to be huge!” She was already outside, but Castiel could hear her even after the door had closed.

“How long term are we talking?” Dean asked, lowering his voice. “Kylen, come on over. Cas, is the protection thing going to help us today? What does it do?”

“It works as a ward,” Castiel said. “To warn away anyone who might wish harm on those within. It’s not uncommon for angels to bestow such blessings on churches temporarily, and it will probably function as intended for the next several days. I don’t know what will happen if it lingers past the next service.”

“So, Sunday,” Dean said. “We’re okay ’til Sunday, and we’ve got people to take care of. Kylen, how are you doing?”

“Awesome,” Kylen said, flipping him a thumbs-up. “Let me know how I can help.”

“I take it he’s staying,” John said sourly.

“Kylen?” Dean said. “I think he’s pretty useful.”

“Castiel,” John said. “What are we supposed to do with an angel God doesn’t want?”

“I would’ve thought that was obvious,” Dean snapped. “Make him feel wanted, Dad.

“Sam,” he added. “Apparently Gabriel likes you, so. Thanks for that. Kylen, can we get the soup going in the kitchen? I’m guessing Claudia and Chris are in charge of the bonfire.”

“Yeah,” Kylen said. “Well, Claudia is. Chris is just hauling stuff around. Allan said he’d bring back a chainsaw later, but I think Claudia’s dad is gonna bring his when he gets out of work.”

“Hello, everyone,” Claudia called from the entryway. “Can we come in?”

“Yes!” Dean yelled over his shoulder.

John sighed, uncrossed his arms, and went to greet them at the door.

“Still staying?” Dean said under his breath.

“As long as you’ll have me,” Castiel said softly.

Dean let out a relieved laugh, seemingly unconcerned that Kylen and Sam were both listening. “Then you’re not ever gonna leave,” he said. “Let’s go figure out what’s going on in the kitchen.”

“Hey, yeah,” Sam said. “What are we eating, anyway? I’m hungry.”

And that was the last anyone spoke of angels for the rest of the afternoon. Castiel did sense a flicker of presence on the edge of town at one point, but it was gone before he could identify it. Warned away by Gabriel’s sign, he assumed. He hoped. He mentioned it to Dean, only because he didn’t want him to feel complacent – if that was even possible for Dean, which he wasn’t sure of since he had yet to see it – but Dean just nodded and said he’d let Sam know.

Castiel wanted Dean to let Sam know to be more careful. To not risk angering archangels, to at least let them have their say before he started yelling at them. To not yell at them at all, preferably. In fact, if all of them could avoid any archangel intervention for the rest of their lives, Castiel would be much more comfortable.

Dean nodded when Castiel pointed out that Gabriel could easily – and still might, if she had any inclination at all – end their existence with a single thought. “Sure,” Dean said, but not sarcastically. Like he actually understood. “But there’s stuff worse than dying, Cas. To live without meaning it? You might as well give up.”

“I would prefer you continue living,” he said quietly.

“Well, you’ve given it your best shot,” Dean said with a grin. “I think it’s on me now.”

“Do your best,” Castiel told him.

“I always do,” Dean promised.

 **10 December again, but warmer**

The bonfire was impressive. It took up a significant portion of the cleared playground area behind the church, even after the playground equipment had been hauled out of the way. Only one chainsaw had been put into action, on the grounds that two people wielding chainsaws simultaneously – both with ear protectors and the limited peripheral vision of safety goggles – were harder to coordinate and to keep the kids away from than just one, but Allan and Claudia’s dad had switched off. Between the two of them, they had turned a tremendous number of downed branches and trees into useable firewood.

The kids loved it. The adults seemed content to stand around it talking, and Dean had quizzed Castiel repeatedly on whether or not the church ward that Gabriel had left would work outside the building. When Castiel told him it was more a message than a physical deterrent, and thus would be approximately as effective for angels as the steeple bells were for humans, Dean stopped finding excuses to keep him inside.

The fire and the church lights were like a beacon to passersby. Unlike the angelic protection, though, they drew people in immediately. Although only two families had asked if they could stay overnight, almost half of those who stopped stayed for food, hot drinks, or warmth. Sometimes all three.

Castiel didn’t see who brought in the second round of food, but the donation was more than enough to feed everyone who asked. He thought Sam might know who it was – but Sam was inside, keeping the younger kids busy making paper decorations for the next day’s holiday fair. Dean was staying mostly outside, watching the fire and chatting with the teens, so Castiel spent his time out with Dean under the cold night sky.

It was smoky, even when the breeze blew in the right direction. As the fire got bigger Claudia and Allan got less careful about the size and condition of the branches they added, and there was a fair amount of hissing when ice-encrusted twigs started to burn. The sound and the smell was harsh, there weren’t enough metal folding chairs for everyone to sit down, and they had to keep at least one side of the fire open so that its custodians could bring in more branches without running the risk of hitting anyone.

But the air was hot. The light was cheerful, and the fire sent a continuous stream of sparks into the sky. Like little fireflies going up to join the stars, the spiraling column of light and warmth cast a reassuring glow over the impromptu fellowship and the church beyond.

The younger children peeked outside occasionally, some of them venturing all the way through the doors when accompanied by an adult. The community lasted long into the night, though people trickled away as the stars shifted, and the group by the fire dwindled to no more than a handful.

“Claudia,” Dean called at one point. “You gonna go all night, or what?”

“You bet,” she said. “It’s too cold to sleep anyway.”

“It’s warm inside,” he reminded her.

“I’d rather watch the fire,” she said.

So he let her, though Castiel saw him talking to Claudia’s father later. Before he wandered back Castiel’s way and settled into the seat beside him again. They sat in silence for some time, watching the fire and the limited light of the church behind it.

At one point, Castiel saw fairy lights come on through the window. Wound around the tree, Sam had apparently decided the minor electrical expenditure was worth it. Sam himself brought out hot chocolate for them after a while: from their second mysterious donor, he said, and did they want any marshmallows?

Dean did, so Castiel had some as well. The drink was, he thought, better without the coffee.

Finally it was just Claudia, Chris, and the two of them, and Dean nudged his arm with an elbow. “You want to go home?” he asked quietly. “Or stay here? Or, hey, you haven’t even been back to the hotel. Do you need to let ’em know you’re alive?”

“Do I?” Castiel asked, amused.

“No,” Dean admitted. “They’ve probably heard by now.”

“So no,” Castiel said with a smile. “Do you have a preference?”

“Not fair,” Dean said, settling back in his chair. “I asked you first.”

“That’s childish,” Castiel informed him. Mostly because it was more fun to tease Dean than to simply sit there, although he enjoyed both activities.

“That’s what I do best,” Dean agreed cheerfully.

“I disagree,” Castiel said. “However, were I to venture an opinion, it would probably be based on the fact that there are more people here than there are at the place you share only with Sam.”

“Way more,” Dean said. “Especially considering Sam’s gonna stay here tonight. I think. He’s not going back to our place, anyway.”

“That’s understandable,” Castiel said carefully. “It won’t be comfortable without heat.”

“Didn’t have heat this morning,” Dean said, kicking his foot against the ground idly. “I thought it was pretty okay.”

Castiel couldn’t keep from smiling. “Yes,” he agreed. “I’m sure it would be so again, were we to return tonight.”

“Should probably check on the place anyway,” Dean offered.

“You don’t have your car,” Castiel reminded him. “If Sam’s leaving, he won’t want you to take his.”

“Tough,” Dean said, straightening up. “I’ll go see if I can swipe the keys. You want anything inside?”

Nothing except the chance to say good night to Sam. Just in case. So he followed Dean inside, watched him bargain the keys from Sam – it probably wouldn’t have worked if Sam hadn’t been planning to stay overnight, and even with that, Castiel could see that he didn’t trust the two of them to be back first thing in the morning – and avoid John. It was easy only because John was nowhere in evidence.

“Dad must be out checking on people,” Dean said, leading the way out through the other door. “Works out well for us.”

Castiel thought it was better not to answer. Partly because he didn’t know what to say, and partly because he didn’t think there was anything he could say. He didn’t have Dean’s gift for getting to the heart of a situation.

Dean didn’t seem to expect him to. He did stop by the front of the car, though, and look up at the sky once more. “You miss home?” he asked, in a casual way that told Castiel he’d been thinking about it for more than just a few seconds.

“Yes,” Castiel said simply.

That seemed to be enough, because Dean just nodded and got into the car. Castiel followed, and they listened to news reports on the way home. The only other question Dean asked was exactly how far Gabriel’s church bell warning would reach, and since Castiel didn’t know the answer, he just said yes again.

“Yes?” Dean repeated. “You think we’ll be okay at the house?”

“I hope so,” Castiel said.

Dean didn’t offer to turn around.

 **11 December**

Sam had been right about the car. Dean was right about being alone in the house. Castiel was only partially right about not having power: Dean had a space heater, and when they put it in his room and closed the door, Castiel waved it to life. They didn’t dare run anything else – Dean didn’t even ask, which was good, because Castiel probably would have found a way – but the little machine made a tremendous difference to Dean’s comfort overnight.

And the next morning. Both before and after Dean dragged them over to the church to return Sam’s car. He drove it, letting Castiel have the keys to the Impala just long enough to pick him up at the church and take him home again. There had been no sign of Gabriel, and John was still (again?) absent at the church.

The holiday fair went on as planned. Castiel assumed. He had no interest in going unless Dean was there, but he understood from the large number of cars and people they had to navigate to return Sam's keys that it was a town-wide event. Finding Sam was easy, but that seemed to be mostly because everyone in the church could point in his general direction.

He and Dean spent most of the day huddled in Dean’s room, keeping warm with the space heater they hadn’t told Sam about. They talked about some of Castiel’s past missions, a few of the different places Dean visited as part of the workplace ministry, and they ate tuna and canned spaghetti from the cupboard while the lights continued to not come on. They did get news, and finally Dean started rooting through Castiel’s bag.

Dean came up with his own iPod. “Here,” he said, crawling back in beside Castiel. He offered Castiel one of the earbuds, fitting the other one into his own ear. “More classics. What do you think?”

Castiel would have guessed Zeppelin or AC/DC, but what came on instead was the Allman Brothers Band. He smiled when he heard _“Lord, I was born a rambling man,”_ because of course he had listened to this song recently.

“You sang about this song,” he murmured. “At Youth Group.”

“Really?” Dean said. “Oh, ‘I Pray for You,’ that’s right. Wow, and that was bad timing, too. I totally wished you’d come in a few minutes later that night.”

“I enjoyed it,” Castiel said. “So much so that I sought out and downloaded each of the three songs mentioned in that one, and I’m irrationally pleased that you remember which song I was speaking of.”

“We’re gonna have to get you some more music,” Dean said firmly.

“Many others have said that,” Castiel offered, easing closer to Dean so they could share the earbuds more easily. Or something. “Hence my varied collection.”

“Okay,” Dean agreed. “I’ll start labeling my playlists better so you can find ’em when I move ’em over.”

Castiel just smiled. They listened to Warrant and Credence Clearwater Revival and they both sang along to Survivor, because Dean could fake the drum parts lying down and it made Castiel laugh. He told Dean that he wanted to hear him singing something over and over again, that he had to record something when they had power again so Castiel could keep it with him, and it wasn’t until afterwards that he realized why that made Dean so happy.

He’d told Dean when the power would come back. He’d just indicated, by saying it, that he would still be in Dean’s life at that time. He didn’t know how, but he did know why, and maybe that was the most important part.

Castiel’s wings hadn’t looked as beautiful as they did when Dean was done with them in years.

 **11 December again, but brighter**

The stoplights came on that night in the next town over. They celebrated by taking some of the kids ice skating: indoors, where it was warm and light and they were serving tea, coffee, and cocoa. No marshmallows, but they had snack bars and, oddly, slices of pizza.

The rink also had a laser light show, which Dean said he’d always wanted to see. Having any power at all was still such a novelty that they all had to get over the regular lights before they could be impressed by the lasers. They managed quite well, Castiel thought. Better than he managed on ice skates, certainly.

Dean spent a lot of time laughing at him. He wasn’t sure why Dean was good at ice-skating; surely there could be no call for it in his day-to-day life. Yet there it was: Dean was competent and surprisingly graceful on rented skates, even if he spent almost as much time helping Castiel up off the ice as he did actually skating on it himself.

Sam didn’t come with them, which Dean said was too bad because Sam on skates was a truly hilarious sight. More hilarious than Castiel, apparently, although when Castiel asked it did take Dean a moment to decide. Sam was back at the university instead, where they had evacuated on-campus residents to the generator-equipped rec building and had them sleeping on the basketball courts. Castiel wasn’t entirely sure what Sam was doing there, but Dean didn’t seem very clear on it either so if it was something he’d missed then at least he wasn’t alone.

“Hey,” Dean said, swinging up against the outside of the penalty box Castiel had taken refuge in. He didn’t bother to stop, just slammed into the outside of the rink like he was tackling the boards. He wasn’t even wearing a coat to absorb the impact, although his gloved hands grabbed the side of the box and hung on. “How are you doing?”

“My feet hurt,” Castiel said truthfully. It wasn’t a problem any more than cold or hunger, but Dean had asked and the skates were uncomfortable. “Also, I find it easier to watch other people while I’m not struggling to stay upright myself.”

“Yeah, hey,” Dean said, hitching a hip up on the edge of penalty box and swinging his legs inside. With his back to the ice, he slid into the box beside Castiel and asked, “Do your wings change your balance at all?”

“No,” Castiel said. “They’re not corporeal in the same way my human body is, so they don’t affect it.”

Dean gave him a sideways look. “But you can feel them.”

“I can feel you touching them,” Castiel corrected. “I don’t know how you do it, but it’s not a physical connection. Everyone else goes right through them.”

“Yeah,” Dean said slowly, like he wanted to make another argument but couldn’t. “Okay. I’ve seen that.”

Then he grinned and added, “So, no excuse, then. You just have lousy balance?”

“I have excellent balance,” Castiel replied, shifting closer to Dean on the bench. Dean had braced his hands to either side of him, which made him difficult to lean against, but he didn’t miss Castiel’s movement and the hand nearest him slid back. “Is it all right to sit so close?”

Dean scoffed. “That’s not close,” he said, shoving over so that their sides were pressed against each other and his hand was behind Castiel’s back. “This is close. Closer, anyway. You’d have to take your coat off for us to seriously compromise each other’s space.”

“I don’t want to make people talk,” Castiel murmured. “If you don’t.”

“Cas,” Dean said. “Trust me, people have been talking since the tree-lighting. And don’t think there’s anyone who doesn’t know you stayed with me the last two nights.”

“But it doesn’t bother you,” Castiel said, shifting his feet in an effort to make the foreign weight more comfortable.

“Hey, Dean!” Jake slid up to the side of the box in a spray of ice and whoosh of cool air. “I’m gonna take Alison to get some of that fancy coffee she likes. You mind telling my dad?”

“There’s coffee here,” Dean pointed out. “And no. Tell your dad yourself.”

“Yeah, but he won’t ask you as many questions,” Jake said. “Please?”

“Because I don’t know anything,” Dean said. “I’ll give you a thirty minute head start, but if you don’t call him in half an hour I’m denying everything.”

Inexplicably, Jake grinned. “Rock on, man.” And he was off, cutting over before he even got up to speed and Castiel had no idea how they could look so comfortable balanced on the thin metal edge of nothing. Jake took the shortest inside loop back to the other side of the rink and hopped off easily, avoiding small children and adults with ease.

“He seemed very happy,” Castiel remarked, watching him go. He saw Jake’s head bob through the plexiglas on the other side of the rink – replacing skate guards without even sitting down, Castiel thought, and sure enough, the boy just kept walking. He didn’t see Alison, but she hadn’t been zipping past the penalty box with Marita for several minutes. She must already be waiting somewhere.

“Well, you do what you can,” Dean said.

“What exactly did you do?” Castiel wanted to know.

Dean shrugged. “Gave him some lead time. He gets to leave now, and I’ll cover for him for the next half hour. He calls his dad when the time’s up and says he’s taking Alison out for coffee and then the parental clock starts ticking, you know? How long they should be gone, when they should be back, what they’re getting up to alone.

“They’ll probably go make out for half an hour,” Dean added, “then actually get coffee and head home. But if his dad asks, I’ll say he was here until –” Dean checked his watch. “Seven forty-five, when he left to get coffee with Alison.”

Castiel caught a glimpse of Dean’s watch as he lowered it. It was seven fifteen.

“I see,” he said. “Is it likely that his father would try to corroborate his story?”

“Yeah,” Dean said with a smile. “Everyone here knows everyone else, Cas. And everyone talks. They say the good thing about living in a small town is that even when you don’t know what you’re doing, someone else does.”

“And you don’t mind,” Castiel said.

“Oh, of course I mind.” Dean looked wry. “Why do you think I haven’t dated anyone for five years? It’s too hard to go out with someone from around here, and it’s too inconvenient to go out with someone who’s not.”

Castiel looked over at him. “What about me?”

Dean shrugged, leaning into his shoulder for a moment. “Occasionally someone’s worth it,” he said lightly. “Even when you know they’re gonna break your heart.”

Castiel leaned back. “I don’t want to break your heart, Dean.”

“Yeah?” Dean didn’t sound any more serious than he had before, but Castiel thought he was doing it on purpose. Covering, as he’d said he would for Jake. “You still got odds on that? The chances we’ll get through this without...”

“Hating each other,” Castiel finished quietly. “I’d say one in four.”

“Twenty-five percent,” Dean said. “That’s pretty low.”

“I’m not easy to get along with,” Castiel said.

The tension broke and Dean laughed out loud. “Cas, that’s my line,” he said. “I think I’ve actually _said_ that to people I’ve gone out with before.”

“I’m sure it’s not true of you,” Castiel said, smiling a little. “You seem to get along with everyone.”

“That’s because they don’t actually spend time with me,” Dean retorted. “I grew up in the church, my family’s completely insane, and I’d rather drive around than go out drinking. I can tell you, that goes over a lot better on Sunday morning than it does Saturday night.”

“I like spending time with you,” Castiel said. “This is a very pleasant Saturday night.” It was a better Saturday night than any other, as far as he was concerned, and that was even accounting for the context: he was under the dubious and likely temporary protection of an archangel, he doubted that he would ever find a mission this worthwhile again, and he didn’t like ice-skating.

“But?” Dean prompted. “I can hear you silently qualifying that.”

Castiel looked at him in surprise. “Can you?”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “No, I was just... I don’t think so. Unless you were thinking this is as good as it gets, your archangel buddy is probably setting us up for something, and you hate ice-skating.”

Castiel blinked. “I was.”

Dean was quiet for a moment, but then he shrugged. “Well. Easy guess, all things considered. Probably not conclusive.”

“I agree with the second part,” Castiel said slowly.

“You ever swap thoughts with anyone else?” Dean wanted to know.

Castiel shook his head. “Only angels,” he said. “But then it’s far more obvious.”

“Like talking?” Dean asked.

“Obvious like talking,” Castiel said. “Yes. But not really like talking at all.”

Dean gave him a look, so he tried again. “There’s... significantly more information conveyed. And there’s a sense of – physical presence, I suppose, of being together even when grace is separated.”

“That’s –” Dean paused, then pressed against his shoulder again. “Yeah. You miss it?”

“You keep asking if I miss heaven,” Castiel said softly. “The answer is yes, but I left for a reason. I’m not here because I have to be, Dean. I’m here because I chose this.”

He was aware that Dean opened his mouth, as though he wanted to say something. He was also aware that Dean wasn’t going to argue when it came to heaven. He let Castiel say as much or as little as he wanted to and he seemed to assume that the rest was beyond him.

“Did you choose to come to earth,” Dean said carefully, “or did you just choose to leave heaven?”

Castiel found himself smiling without meaning to. “You never do what I think you’re going to do,” he murmured, almost to himself. But he knew Dean would hear.

Dean didn’t even ask, but he sounded amused when he replied, “Welcome to my life.”

Castiel tilted his head, wondering how Dean had meant that. “Do you know what you’re going to do?” he asked.

“Sometimes,” Dean said. He didn’t sound surprised by the question, so maybe he’d been serious. “Sometimes I come up with a whole plan and then wait ’til the day of to throw it out. I think sometimes it’s nice just to pretend you know what you’re going to do.”

Castiel wasn’t entirely sure what to make of that. He did miss the days when he knew what he was doing, but he’d never known what the future would hold. Not when he was still taking orders, and not since. It hadn’t occurred to him to plan anything beyond what he needed from day to day.

“Did you plan this?” Dean asked after a moment.

“I didn’t choose to leave heaven,” Castiel said. He wasn’t sure if that answered the question or not, but he also wasn’t completely sure what the question was. “I chose to come to earth. The fact that I made the decision meant there was no longer a place for me in heaven.”

Dean was silent for another long moment.

Finally he said, “Thanks for coming skating with us.”

“Of course,” Castiel agreed, smiling out at the rink. The lights were going down, blinking out one by one as the fog machines came on. Adults were shepherding smaller children toward the exits while the teenagers sailed on, unconcerned, and an announcement about the upcoming laser show overrode the music.

Impulsively, Castiel added, “There’s nowhere I’d rather be,” and he felt Dean shift against him.

“That’s hard to believe,” Dean said, speaking into his ear just loudly enough to be heard over the noise of the rink. “But I’ll take it.”

“This is uncomfortable and frightening and the least sure I’ve ever been,” Castiel murmured. “It’s also exhilarating and reassuring every moment I’m with you, and I haven’t been this happy since I fell from heaven. I don’t know if you like to hear such declarations, especially in public, and there was a time when I wouldn’t have noticed – or cared – but now I feel compelled to find out. Can I tell you that I love you?”

It made Dean laugh, and he didn’t know why. He liked hearing it, but he didn’t understand it.

“Cas,” Dean said, and his voice was full of affection and amusement and something else that Castiel couldn’t identify. “You can say anything you want. You know I do.”

“I love you,” Castiel repeated.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Love you too, crazy angel.” He pressed a kiss to the side of Castiel’s face. Castiel tipped his head to make it easier, feeling his eyes slide closed in the gathering dimness.

A voice over the loudspeakers warned about the fog machines. Castiel thought that came a little late, but then, he knew what that was like. He felt Dean’s arm against his side and he eased his own back, pushing Dean’s hand away and sliding his coat open at the same time. When Dean kissed him again, Castiel could feel his smile.

Dean’s hand slid under his coat a moment later, wrapping around his waist and warming his skin through his shirt.

The fog hovered over the ice, easy enough to see through and thicker up above. There was a collective sound from the rink when the first line of light pierced the air, green and bright and quickly joined by another. And another. They started to move, stuttering into long cascades of straight lines before lifting in waves and soaring toward the rafters of the rink.

The lines disappeared before they reached the roof, but the fog was still rising and Castiel thought they might get there eventually. On the ice below the skaters were moving more slowly, some of them hand in hand, others collecting along the edges of the rink to watch. A couple of kids shuffled along the front of the penalty box, pausing until they realized it was occupied – it was probably hard to tell in the shadows – and moved on.

“You can take your skates off,” Dean whispered in his ear. “If they’re bothering you.”

“Not when I’m not standing on them,” Castiel whispered back.

He felt Dean’s huff of amusement against his skin. “Want something to drink?”

“I’m fine,” he murmured, letting his head rest against Dean’s for a moment.

It didn’t satisfy Dean for long. “Chocolate?” he asked, producing a bar from a pocket or thin air, for all Castiel knew. “Has nuts in it.”

He couldn’t help smiling. “Yes,” he agreed. “Chocolate sounds good.”

“Are you just saying that to get me to stop bugging you?” Dean asked, and Castiel laughed. The sound was almost startling, even to him, not because it was so unusual around Dean but because he so rarely saw it coming.

“No,” he said, watching Dean unwrap his chocolate bar one-handed. “Though it is possible you wore me down.”

“Shouldn’t have admitted that,” Dean said, with a certain amount of glee. “I’ll be using it in the future.”

“You already do,” Castiel observed, holding out the hand that wasn’t comfortably warm in between their bodies. “How are you planning to break that with only one hand?”

“I’m not,” Dean said. Ignoring the hand, he held the bar up in front of Castiel’s mouth. “Bite?”

It didn’t even occur to him to look around, to see who might be watching or to consider what effect this might have on the town in which he found himself. All he cared about was the fact that Dean was offering him something, and he’d made it very easy to accept. For the first time in a long time, Castiel wasn’t careful about how much he took.

“Attaboy,” Dean said, which sounded strange and warm and human coming from him. “Man, it’s more fun to watch you eat this than it is to eat it myself. We are totally combining candy and sex sometime in the near future.”

It wasn’t a foreign concept to Castiel. “I believe traditionally one melts the candy first,” he pointed out. It was a little awkward, talking around the chocolate in his mouth, but Dean seemed to find it amusing. “We might have to wait for the power to come back.”

Dean didn’t say a word about using his powers for good. Instead he replied, “You like maple syrup?”

Castiel considered this. “You won’t be able to wash your sheets,” he said at last.

“We’re already on our second set,” Dean said. “I’ll go find someplace with working laundry tomorrow.”

He would, too. He would ignore Sam, he would ignore everyone, and he would take up all of Sunday afternoon driving the stupid sheets to a town that had limited electricity. He would wait at what would no doubt be a crowded laundry facility for a washer, he would stay with the washer while it ran, and then he would fill a dryer up with change and let it go.

Castiel turned his face toward Dean, his voice a quiet breath beneath the dance music and the shushing of skates and the ever-present echo of people talking all around them. “I can clean them.”

He saw Dean smile even in the dimness. “You’re on.”

 **12 December**

Dean’s watch had an alarm on it. That might have been the only reason they were up in time for church the next morning, since the space heater in Dean’s closed room remained the sole powered device in the house. Dean had finally unplugged it, because he said the possibility of electrical feedback would get them in trouble with the utility company, but he hid the plug behind the chair. “So it doesn’t look weird,” he’d said.

They hadn’t bothered to pull the curtains the night before: there were no neighbors close enough to see into the house, let alone the second story, and with the entire town dark there wasn’t any chance of light from outside. During the day, the windows let in a meager amount of winter light, and at night they let Castiel watch the stars while he wasn’t sleeping.

Sometime between the rising moon and the lightening horizon, he’d slept after all. Dean was going to ask about it if it kept happening... or maybe he wouldn’t. No matter how much time Castiel spent in his company, he seemed no better able to predict Dean’s reactions than he had been before they met.

“Better not be six-thirty,” Dean muttered, burying the arm with the incessant beeping under his pillow. His phone had served as an alarm the day before, but it was out of charge and at the church besides.

Castiel blinked his eyes open, staring at dark blue sheets and wondering how much of a sin it would be to keep a pastor’s son from church. Then he felt Dean’s lips press briefly against his shoulder and decided he didn’t care. Rolling over, he found Dean already pushing himself up on his elbows and frowning down at his body.

“That’s not exactly the expression I would choose,” Castiel said, voice rougher than intended but still, he thought, comprehensible, “when looking at you like that.”

Dean’s grumpiness melted into a smirk, but all he said was, “I’m sick of this not-showering thing. You want to go find a place with hot water?”

“Before church?” Castiel asked, twitching one wing over his shoulder so he could soothe the cramped, prickling sensation that lingered along its edge. His grace didn’t seem very compatible with human sleep, no matter how much his body enjoyed it.

Dean’s gaze followed the movement. “Um... I could bribe you with pastries,” he offered, though he suddenly seemed less determined.

“Will you be singing today?” Castiel asked.

Dean’s eyes flicked to his, and he blinked. “Oh – at church? Yeah. The choir’s on every weekend.”

“In that case,” Castiel said, “I agree.”

“What?” Dean didn’t seem to have followed.

“To let you go,” Castiel said with a small smile. “You may leave this bed if it means that I will hear you sing.”

“Oh,” Dean said. His lips twitched, and leaned over Castiel. “Oh,” he said again, “I see how it is. Shack up with an angel and suddenly I’m a kept man. We’re gonna have to renegotiate this power balance.”

“Do you dislike my terms?” Castiel asked, trying to look serious. He couldn’t make the smile go away. “I thought they were very reasonable.”

“You’re reasonable,” Dean grumbled, in a way that made it sound more like an insult than anything. “Bet you don’t even have morning breath. But I’m disgusting, and there’s only so much clean clothes and coats will hide.”

“I could help,” Castiel offered recklessly. He could make Dean’s life so much easier. He shouldn’t. But he could, and when Dean’s soul pulsed bright and beautiful at his side he found it hard to remember what separated angels from humans.

“What, find Sam’s gym card?” Dean grinned at him. “Bet even angel magic can’t find a system in his stuff. Luckily, I have brotherly intuition.”

Diverted, Castiel asked, “What do you need his gym card for?”

“It’s like ten miles from the power plant,” Dean said. “He complains about it all the time, but the hot tub is Jess’ favorite, so they all have memberships. If there’s any place with power, it’ll be that ridiculous club. And they have showers.”

“That’s –” Castiel thought he should know. Or be able to tell. “How far away is that?”

“Far enough that we need to move,” Dean said, sitting up again. “You need more clothes? We can stop by the hotel on our way over.”

“Dean,” he said. “I could...”

“Make my life a lot easier,” Dean finished, looking back at him. “I know. And look, I really appreciate it. I’m not – I don’t want to throw it back in your face, because it’s great of you and I love that you can do it, that you _would_ do it. But I’m human for a reason, right? Maybe there’s something I’m supposed to get out of all this.”

“Some higher purpose,” Castiel said quietly.

“Maybe,” Dean said with a shrug. “Maybe it’s just you, maybe I’m... maybe I can give you a few human pleasures, you know? If you can’t be with your angel friends anymore, you should at least have human ones. And we do some stuff that’s kind of worthwhile, right?”

“Dean,” Castiel interrupted. “There’s no ‘at least.’ You’re not a substitute for anyone.”

“And it’s fun,” Dean continued, as though he hadn’t spoken. “You said yesterday you were scared and happy at the same time. That’s what it’s like for humans, all the time. The only way to get rid of the bad is to get rid of the good, too, and it just seems like, if I don’t have to work for it then will I even care that I have it?”

Castiel hesitated. “Work for... what, specifically?”

“Anything,” Dean said. “Being clean. You could do it, and you rock, and hey, maybe we could stay in bed longer which would be awesome. But showers are pretty awesome too, when you can get them. And I bet we can if we steal Sam’s card. He’s got guest passes and everything.”

Castiel looked at him for a long moment, but Dean just looked serious and earnest, so he sat up. “I don’t really understand,” he admitted. “But I hope that doesn’t make my agreement sound cavalier. If you’d like to go find a working shower, then I want to go too.”

Dean did seem to give it some thought. Maybe a second and a half. Then he just grinned and said, “Okay. Toothbrush, clothes, money for breakfast. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

They only had an hour and a half by the time they were ready to go, which seemed to excite Dean more than irritate him. “We can totally do this,” he said with a laugh. He brandished a plastic card that Castiel assumed belonged to Sam. “Swanky fitness club, here we come!”

The swanky fitness club, as Dean called it, did not seem at all surprised to have non-members showing up at the door and asking to use the showers. They did check his (Sam’s) card, but they didn’t deduct a guest pass for Castiel. “It’s fine,” the girl at the desk told them. “Believe me, I came in on my day off to use the showers too.”

They left with still-damp hair and forty-five minutes before Dean had to be at church. He cranked the heat in the car – to unfreeze the tips of Castiel’s hair, he said – and they stopped to eat breakfast at the first lighted place they saw. Well, the first lighted place that Castiel didn’t veto on the grounds that grease was not a food group.

“Better than yesterday,” Dean said, watching the traffic from the window beside their booth. The coat that had been his constant companion since the power went out was now on the seat beside him. “Most of the traffic lights are back on. That’s gotta be a good sign.”

Castiel didn’t answer, enjoying chocolate milk again for the first time in many months. He didn’t need food, but he did like it. Sometimes.

They passed five line trucks on their way back to town, all from across the border with “HydroQuebec” plastered on their sides. Castiel heard other people honking at them as they drove by. Dean waved out the window, and Castiel thought one of the drivers might have waved back.

The mood at church was still good. They arrived with time to spare, even considering that Dean would have to change and his hair still felt wet to the touch. “No one’s gonna be touching my hair,” he said, to which Castiel couldn’t resist responding by reaching out and running his fingers through it. “No one except you,” Dean amended.

When he wanted to know why Castiel’s hair was dry, considering its length, Castiel just raised an eyebrow and Dean rolled his eyes. “Right,” he said. “Forget I asked.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said seriously, before he could get out of the car. “For taking me to breakfast, and... everything.”

Dean paused, giving him an even look. “You going somewhere?”

“No,” Castiel said. “I’m just not sure how best to thank someone for stealing me a shower at his brother’s fitness club. It’s never come up before.”

Dean’s face relaxed into a grin. “Stick with me, kid,” he advised. “You ain’t seen nothing yet!”

John was once again polite to him at the door, and Dean acted like there hadn’t been a fight the day before. When they got inside, though, Dean walked with him up to the front of the sanctuary. “Why am I sitting in the front?” Castiel asked under his breath.

“’Cause that’s where Sam and Mom are,” Dean whispered back. “You want to sit with the kids again?”

“You asked them to look for me last week,” Castiel said.

“Well, yeah,” Dean mumbled, a hint of that grin creeping onto his face again. “I didn’t want you talking to just anyone. At least the kids don’t know any embarrassing baby stories about me.”

“Ah,” Castiel said, pausing by the front pew. Mary, he could see, had saved a place for him by piling Sam’s coat beside her. On her other side was not Sam, but Sarah, with Sam and Jess on the end. “Am I to understand you’re no longer worried about embarrassing baby stories?”

“Cas.” Dean clapped him on the shoulder, but gently, as though he was holding onto him instead of trying to send him on his way. “You know way more embarrassing things about me than baby stories by now.”

“That’s what you think,” Mary said, smiling up at them. “Good morning, Castiel. Dean, is your hair wet?”

“Yes, Mom,” Dean said with a sigh. “I didn’t take my fancy blow-dryer with me to the gym.”

“They invented hats for a reason,” she told him.

“You never wear hats,” he said.

“I also don’t leave the house with wet hair,” she replied.

“Well, no one does this week,” Dean grumbled, leaning down to move Sam’s coat. “Considering how hard it is to find running water. You doing okay at home?”

“Yes, Tony’s been very generous with his generator,” she said, moving over a little. “Here, Castiel, sit with us. Dean’s not just moving things at random, that seat really was for you.”

“Yeah, I can take my coat back,” Sam said.

“You want it?” Dean asked. “I can hang it up for you.”

“Nah, it’s still cold,” Sam said. “We only ran the heat in the community room and some of the classrooms overnight. I hope it gets warmer in here before we have to leave.”

“Hi Castiel,” Jess said, waving as she sat forward to let Sam shoulder his way into his coat. “Have you been staying warm? Or is that a silly question?”

“No innuendo in church,” Sam muttered, bumping up against her when he settled back in beside her.

“Oh, there’s really no better place for innuendo,” Sarah said. Just loudly enough that Castiel assumed everyone in the pew behind her would hear.

“And that’s why we don’t let you come,” Sam said smoothly. “She only came to see you, Cas, so be nice to her.”

“That’s true,” Sarah agreed with hesitation. “Really not a churchgoer.”

“We love you anyway,” Jess said.

“Have you boys been warm enough?” Mary asked. “I’m your mother, so keep it PG.”

Castiel looked up at Dean, whose guileless look slid from him to Mary without hesitation. “We’re fine, Mom. We’ve been at the church half the time anyway, and it’s not so bad at the house when we’re sleeping.

“I gotta go,” he added, before anyone else could comment. “Be nice to Castiel, okay guys? He puts up with enough from me; he doesn’t need anyone else piling on.”

“I actually recommend piling on as a cold-defeating strategy,” Sarah remarked.

Sam groaned. “Why did we bring her, again?” he asked Jess. “She’s sitting next to my mom.”

“To distract everyone else from your brother,” Jess said, patting his leg. “She’s doing a fantastic job.”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “A little too fantastic.”

“Keep it up,” Dean advised, giving Sarah a wink. He put his hand on Castiel’s shoulder again and added, “See you later. Go sit with the kids if they’re too much.”

“Yeah, why aren’t the kids sitting up here?” Sarah asked, turning around to look over the back of the pew. “Does everyone have assigned seats? Am I taking someone’s seat? I don’t even know.”

Castiel wasn’t allowed to watch Dean go – Mary must have thought he felt alone, because she immediately asked him if he needed more room, or if he wanted to take off his gloves. In fact he was thinking about Dean’s interaction with Sarah and Jess, how easy it seemed, and how the fact that he still didn’t think Dean understood their relationship didn’t seem to keep him from getting along with all of them.

“No,” he said anyway. And, “Yes, of course.” He liked Dean’s mother, and he was glad to have the opportunity to speak with her again. “Is Tony the neighbor who’s been bringing the generator to your house?”

“Yes,” she said. “Did Dean tell you about him?”

He nodded. Dean had actually told him much more than that, and that was on top of the incidental information Castiel had gathered in his quest to save Dean. He knew the names of all Mary’s neighbors, from those who had known Dean the longest to those who didn’t even know Mary’s name. Tony and his partner had moved in post-divorce, but long enough ago that he had watched Dean and Sam grow up.

“He’s been driving his generator around the street,” Mary said, as though him indicating that he knew was reason enough for her to tell him again. “We get to run the heat and wash the dishes and get fresh water, and he leaves it for an hour or so at a time. He’s been a lifesaver for a lot of us.”

“We should cover his gas,” Sam put in from the other side of Sarah. “Tony, right? Let me know how many times he comes over and me and Dean can take some of the operating expense.”

“Oh, Sam,” Mary said. “You boys don’t have to do that. Everyone in the neighborhood will chip in to pay him back. The real trick will be getting him to let us.”

“Mom.” Sam put his arm around Sarah and smiled at her. “I split rent with two talented and highly professional women, and my brother. None of us have kids. We have some disposable income.”

“You split two rents,” Mary corrected, “and you’re a grad student with loans. You need that income.”

“Not as much as everyone needs heat,” Sam said.

Sarah patted his hand. “Sam, stop arguing. We’ll sneak the money into her coat later.”

“Actually,” Jess said, before Mary could protest. “Can you run your shower while the generator’s going? Because Sarah and I would totally pay for that.”

“Hey,” Sam protested. “What am I, a cave man?”

“Sam, we know you’re sneaking showers at the rec center,” Jess told him. “How do you even get in there? You don’t live on campus.”

“I have a card,” he said. “Grad students get full rec and parking access. You can use it if you want; I just have to swipe it to get in. No one ever checks.”

“You’re all welcome to come over,” Mary said firmly. “Sarah, Jess, I’ll call you the next time Tony stops by?”

“Oh, that would be wonderful,” Sarah said. “Thank you.”

“Castiel?” Mary added. “How are you and Dean doing for running water?”

“Dean took Sam’s gym card,” Castiel told her. “We used the showers there.”

“We did that too,” Sarah said. “I mean, we used ours. Well, we used the gym and then we used the showers. Jess and I went yesterday.”

“Wait,” Sam said. “You took my card?”

“Dean said you wouldn’t mind,” Castiel said. Which wasn’t entirely true, but he assumed it conveyed the correct message. Dean probably would have told him not to mention it if he thought Sam would mind. Or he wouldn’t have done it at all. Castiel didn’t think more time or more questions would necessarily explain the nature of the relationship Dean shared with his brother.

“How did Dean know where to find my card?” Sam wanted to know. “ _I’m_ not even sure where it was!”

Castiel could only shrug when Sam seemed to be waiting for an answer. “I don’t know.”

“I actually thought I had your card,” Jess said. “But I didn’t see it the other day, when Sarah and I went.”

“I think I took it back,” Sam admitted. “I’m just not sure what I did with it after that.”

“Well, it sounds like Dean could tell you,” Mary said. “If you’re looking for it.”

They went on, and Castiel listened with a small and distant part of his attention compared to the part that focused on the building’s angelic protection. It was indeed fading. Suddenly and noticeably, he could feel it ebbing away. In its place was the rising reverence of Sunday worship, which would mask the loss for a brief time, but when the service was over and the fellowship had filed out he didn’t think there would be anything left.

In some ways that was good. It would certainly appear to end more naturally than it had begun, and would hopefully draw less interest because of that. Unfortunately any interest it had already drawn would be waiting for exactly this: the moment the protection ebbed away, when any interested party could slip in without attracting the notoriously capricious attention of an archangel.

Mary spoke to him again, but most of his energy was going to battle plans by the time the service began. Not because fighting was the most feasible option, but because he was starting to think it was the most likely. He should have left Dean before this, but he had to face the fact that he hadn’t. Given that, the odds that he would reverse his decision at all – let alone quickly enough to make a difference – were vanishingly small.

He did make another effort, sitting there in the front pew of the church. He tried to convince himself to leave. Go, he thought. Staying will only make it worse.

And that was the problem: his conviction that it would be _worse_ , meaning that it might already be bad enough, and thus flight now would not guarantee anyone’s safety. Not that of Dean’s town, not that of his family, not Dean’s and certainly not Castiel’s. If he’d already made the choice that would bring heaven’s wrath to earth – and not just any part of earth, but this part specifically – then the choices he made from here out would have to be about mitigating those consequences.

Not by leaving. He couldn’t protect anyone if he wasn’t here, and it was very clear to him that Dean didn’t plan to let him go. He could only imagine what lengths Dean would go to in order to draw his attention, to find him, or to find someone who could.

At this point, he was afraid that leaving Dean alone might cause him to make a bigger target of himself than Castiel did just by being there.

“Open up your eyes –”

He noticed when the choir started singing. The voices at the front of the church swelled before the music, and he noticed that Sam and Sarah whispered through the beginning despite this being completely obvious. He almost frowned over at them, distracted from his thoughts of defense by the irritation.

“And see these warning signs, breaking through your heart and all the reasons of your mind...” The choir gained strength as it went, supported by the music and easily overwhelming the few scattered whispers that Castiel tried to ignore. Something about a movie. Irrelevant. Intrusive. Insignificant.

“Open up to find your action leaves behind the very hope that’s given for the world to feel alive,” they sang, and he might not have paid as much attention if he hadn’t been able to pick out Dean’s voice. He might not have paid any attention if Dean hadn’t been there, if Dean hadn’t cared enough about the music to use it, if it wasn’t the work of Dean’s life to reach people by giving them something they could understand, something they could enjoy, something they could relate to.

Something they could love.

“And the time has come to realize, and see the plan you’ve been designed for –” He noticed that Dean caught his eye occasionally, not enough to make it obvious, but perhaps more than Castiel would have expected were it coincidence. “So face the fear of all unknown, and see the heart inside... open up your eyes.”

He also noticed that Mary was looking sideways at him, as if to judge his appreciation of her son. He didn’t bother to look over at catch her at it, since he wasn’t sure she wanted to be caught and he didn’t have time for games, even with Dean’s mother. Dean was singing a song of peace while Castiel prepared to do battle.

He didn’t hear a message in that, and he didn’t wonder if one was intended. It wasn’t, of course. This was a church, and church choirs sang. Dean was in a church choir. Whatever influence he had over its musical selection – and Castiel was convinced he had quite a lot – he couldn’t possibly know that heaven might be on his doorstep.

Could he take Dean, Castiel wondered? Not for the first time, it crossed his mind that removing Dean from the town when he went might solve many of the problems that staying with him had caused. Unfortunately, it also negated most of the good that saving him had done. He didn’t think Dean would enjoy it, either, and there was no denying that this played a large role in his reluctance.

“Can you sense the feeling that there’s more than what you know?” If only he could stay here, in this service, for a little longer. Longer than it would last, longer than he thought he had to decide what to do. “It’s a fire that burns within that only seems to grow.

“There’s a price that’s given and which only love can pay, the time is here and now: don’t let it fade away,” the choir continued, and Dean was looking at him, and he knew then that another minute, another hour, another millennia wouldn’t matter. He’d already made every choice he could make. The rest were Dean’s.

Castiel would stand with him to face the consequences, whatever they might be.

The choir disappeared after the service, but this time he couldn’t wait. “I need to speak with Dean,” he said, even before Mary could stand up. The focus of the worship would ease naturally as the fellowship gathered and moved on, but every second that passed made the light enveloping them a little dimmer.

“He just has to change,” Mary said. “I brought some of those cookies, and –”

“Sam,” Castiel said. “I’m sorry,” he added, glancing at Mary. “I’m sure the cookies are delicious, and I look forward to enjoying them with you, but I must speak to your son immediately.

“Sam,” he repeated impatiently, wishing humans would get over their reluctance to speak over each other.

“This way,” Sam said without hesitation. “We’ll be right back,” he told everyone else, even as he waved for Castiel to follow. “Save us some cookies.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said.

“Should I even ask?” Sam wanted to know.

“If he hasn’t told you,” Castiel said, “then probably not.”

“Right through here,” Sam said. “Men on the left. Knock first; it’s polite.”

He knew what was polite. He just didn’t care. He did knock, but he opened the door without waiting for a reply. “Dean,” he said, finding one bright soul in the midst of many. “I need to speak with you.”

“Yeah, sure,” Dean said, like this happened every week. “Hang on.”

Castiel might have protested, except that Dean seemed very serious about it. He didn’t even hang up his robes, just pulled them off over his head and tossed them over the back of a chair. “Come on through,” he said, already heading for the back of the room.

They found themselves in some sort of library, cold and dark, though the light did come on when Dean flipped the switch. Dean smiled. “Yeah, you don’t miss that ’til it doesn’t work anymore,” he said.

“Okay,” he added, before Castiel could reply. “What’s up?”

“Gabriel’s protection is gone,” Castiel said. “Soon everyone will know where I am.”

Dean just nodded. “Got it. What do we do?”

“I’ve already decided to remain with you,” Castiel said. “Unless you send me away. The question is whether we stand and fight here, or leave together. I’m sorry to put that decision on you,” he added, “but as I’m willing to do either I’m afraid the preference must be yours.”

“Wait,” Dean said. “We’re doing this now?

“Okay, right,” he said quickly, without waiting for a reply. “We’re doing this now. I’m not sending you away so don’t say that. Our choices are to stay here and fight or run? Together? What about everyone else?”

“It’s possible that if we leave,” Castiel said, “the town will be passed over.”

“Everyone’s gonna die,” Dean translated.

“No,” Castiel said. “Maybe. It’s possible.”

“You don’t know,” Dean guessed. “Are the chances better or worse if we go? Can we fight?”

“We can fight,” Castiel said. “But it won’t make a difference.”

“Wow,” Dean said, staring at him. And finally. There. That seemed to be all he could say. His inhuman acceptance of the situation had run out and he would rebel, now. He would reject the truth Castiel gave him and he would stay, and Castiel, because he couldn’t tear himself away, would stay as well.

And they would die.

“So,” Dean said, “let me make sure I’ve got this. We stay, the town gets destroyed. We go, the town probably gets destroyed.”

“Yes,” Castiel said. “I’m sorry.”

Dean took a deep breath. “I think you might have warned me about this before, so. Can’t really blame you. I assume worst case is that we die in both scenarios.”

“Yes,” Castiel repeated.

“Is it the actual physical town?” Dean asked. “I mean, can we, I dunno, evacuate or something?”

“Dean,” Castiel said. “I have fallen from heaven. Of my own accord, I have directly intervened in mortal affairs. Your father was not wrong to compare me to Lucifer. In the eyes of the host, the mistakes I’ve made are both grievous and unforgivable. If they find me, they will destroy anyone and everyone who knows what I am.”

“An angel,” Dean said, staring at him.

Castiel didn’t look away. “A fallen angel.”

“Have they destroyed other towns?” Dean asked quietly. “Tornadoes, floods, that what’s going on there?”

He tried not to bristle at the resignation in Dean’s voice. “I do not leave a trail of destruction in my wake,” he said stiffly. “I’ve survived this long by denying my own existence, by ensuring that no one I come in contact with has even the slightest cause to care. The error I made with you was –”

He broke off. His voice should still work; there was nothing wrong with it. He had no idea what made the words stick in his throat. He didn’t even know what they were.

They had to be there. What else did he have?

“Vast,” he choked out. It was as far as he could go, the only truth he had.

Dean was right. They would all die. For the salvation of a single soul, an entire town would be dust. Perhaps a fire, he thought distantly. In the wake of the ice storm, the electrical grid was in tatters and certainly there was kindling to spare. A cleansing fire. His brethren would like that.

“No,” Dean said. He was close. Too close. Blindingly –

Dean’s fingers touched his forehead. They brushed against his lips. They ghosted over one check, and then the other.

The sign of the cross.

“Cas,” Dean murmured. “I absolve you from your sins. In my name, if not the name of God, ’cause who knows what he thinks, really.”

He wanted to reach out. He wanted to accept absolution, he wanted to laugh at Dean’s irreverence, he wanted to run from this man who made a mockery of everything and in so doing made it mean more to Castiel than it had since the gate had drifted shut behind him. He had always been told to have faith – he had no idea how to choose that belief for himself.

“We gotta go,” Dean said softly. “I’m sorry, Cas. I wish I could keep you here, you have to know that. I wish I could give you this, for whatever it’s worth to you: a new home, a new family, some kind of something to keep you grounded when the walls start closing in. But if there’s a chance that running keeps them after us instead of... everyone, well. We gotta go.”

Castiel wasn’t sure if he should laugh at Dean or cry. He was relatively sure both would be acceptably human responses. “I don’t understand you,” he said instead. Dean’s hand rested against his neck, thumb rubbing tiny circles beneath his ear. “But I think I could learn to count on you.”

Dean’s smile was impossible. “Best thing I’ve heard all day,” he said.

Neither of them moved for a moment. Then Dean said, “Okay, I know what we’re gonna tell ’em. You have a sister, she has an emergency, there’s a family videoconference. You can use my computer. I can totally sell this; just look worried while I say goodbye, okay? Or do you want to wait in the car?”

Castiel blinked. “While you... you’re going to lie to your family?”

“Well, I’m not telling them I’m going on the run with the guy who came to fix the roof,” Dean said. “No offense. But I gotta say goodbye. Oh, and we have to stop by my mom’s place on our way out of town. There’s something there I have to pick up.”

“You’re going to say goodbye,” Castiel repeated. “Are you sure that’s –”

He stopped. Dean hadn’t once questioned him, not since he’d burst into the choir room and asked for privacy to tell him that everything he knew was about to end. How could he question this?

“Never mind,” Castiel said quietly.

“Trust me, Cas,” Dean said. “People tell me stuff that would break your heart. I know how to keep it together. You coming?”

“Yes,” Castiel said.

Which was how he found himself staring down Sam while Dean explained to his mom that, “Cas has a family thing; they’re all having an emergency conference and he needs a webcam. I’m gonna set him up with mine.”

“The power’s out,” Sam said without looking away from Castiel.

“Thanks, genius,” Dean retorted. “We’re taking my laptop to the library. We’ll be a few hours, okay?”

“Is there anything we can do?” Mary asked, frowning gently at them. “I hope your sister’s all right.”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “Is this the sister I talked to, or is this – another one?”

“Hello, emergency,” Dean said. “Cas can give you a full report later; we’ll see you at lunch or something. We’re going; tell dad – uh, I thought the service was great.” The slight hesitation was the only indication of trouble. He even sounded believably impatient when he refused to answer Sam’s question, Castiel thought.

“I’m sure Dad’ll be worried about Cas’ sister too,” Sam said, finally shifting his glare from Castiel to Dean.

“Of course he will,” Mary put in. She looked a little puzzled, but she patted Dean’s arm and didn’t object when he drew her into a bear hug. “Give your family our best, won’t you, Castiel?”

“I will,” he said, but carefully, because Sam looked like he was moving rapidly from suspicion to anger. “Thank you.”

“Love you,” Dean whispered before he let her go. “Take care, Sammy. Remember to tell Dad, okay? Great sermon.”

Sam folded his arms, making it very clear that Dean wasn’t going to hug him. “I could give you a ride,” he said. “To the ‘library.’”

“What, strand your girls?” Dean countered. He clapped Sam on the shoulder despite the narrow-eyed look he got in return and jerked his head at Castiel. “Let’s go.”

Castiel kept pace as unobtrusively as possible. Dean waved and dodged the whole way to the door, but he didn’t say anything once they got outside. He unlocked the car, swung in, and stared down at the steering wheel while Castiel climbed in beside him.

Castiel waited, unwilling to break the silence.

Dean drew in a deep breath, then slid the keys into the ignition. “Let’s do this,” he muttered, starting the car. “How long do we have?”

That was when Castiel knew. Dean wasn’t handling this well because he wasn’t handling it at all. He was putting off all reaction until he deemed the danger past, and Castiel couldn’t help thinking it was just like Dean to compartmentalize.

“I don’t know,” he admitted as the car pulled away. “I wouldn’t guess more than a couple of hours.”

“Not enough time to go home,” Dean said. “Looks like we’re gonna be putting your angel powers to the test.”

“I –” He wasn’t sure if he should remind Dean. “I can’t stand against an archangel, Dean.”

“Not in a fight,” Dean said. “On the road.” He waved out in front of them, the direction unclear but the church was already disappearing in the rearview. “Out there, in life. In a new life.”

He thought, but didn’t say, _With nothing._

“You need anything from the hotel?” Dean asked. “You want your car?”

“I have what I need,” Castiel said quietly.

He saw Dean glance at him from the corner of his eye. “You sure you want to leave that kind of stuff behind? Police are gonna comb the room, Cas. They’ll have an APB out tomorrow.”

Castiel shook his head. “They won’t find anything,” he said.

“Right,” Dean said. And that was all.

They weren’t headed for Dean’s place, Castiel noticed. For his mom’s, then. He didn’t ask what they were getting there – Dean was certainly entitled to anything he needed, and Castiel still couldn’t understand why they were just going. He didn’t want to question, for fear that Dean would realize what he was doing and stop.

“Why are we –” He managed to stop himself before he finished. He regretted even starting when Dean frowned.

“One thing,” Dean said. “I’m stopping for one thing. Three minutes, tops.”

“It’s not that,” Castiel said quickly. “Anything you want, please, Dean, I wish –”

He stopped again. He wasn’t sure he’d ever used the word “wish” before, not in the context of something he couldn’t have but had somehow allowed himself to want anyway. He didn’t know how to continue.

“Hey,” Dean said, more gently. “It’s gonna be okay, Cas. It’s not like I didn’t see this coming. I knew – okay, I didn’t know what I was getting into with an angel, but I _knew_ I didn’t know. I made this decision two days ago. The first time you said ‘come with me,’ right? I knew I would.

“So it’s a little sooner than I hoped,” he continued with a shrug. “And yeah, it’s rough. It’s gonna be rough. I’m gonna have issues, I’ll tell you that right now. You’re gonna have issues too, though most of your issues are probably gonna be me. Sorry about that. But we’re trying it, and we’re not going back now.”

He didn’t know how to express his gratitude. He thought he whispered, “Thank you,” but he couldn’t stop being aware of the church and its fading light. He couldn’t miss the flicker at the edge of town. He didn’t know how long he tried to decide whether or not to tell Dean, and then they were outside a house he recognized from pictures and Dean was telling him to stay with the car.

“Three minutes,” Dean repeated, and Castiel opened his mouth to say something.

Dean hadn’t waited. He was already bounding into the house, and maybe that was a good thing, maybe Castiel could keep this from going any farther. He climbed reluctantly out of the car as the hovering presence pulsed, pounced, coalesced into something dark and terrifying in front of him.

He already thought of the car as a sanctuary, Castiel noted. Because it was Dean’s? Because Dean did? As the answer didn’t come immediately to mind, he supposed he would never have a chance to find out. He did step away from it as best he was able, trying to make a clear zone without making it obvious what he was doing.

No mere angel had come for him. He had known there were soldiers searching, and he had been confident in his ability to evade them: he was trained as they were, after all. He was skilled with a weapon, with his grace. With the application of perceived righteousness, no matter where it came from.

He wouldn’t be able to avoid collateral damage, but he could hold his own against heaven’s armies.

“Raphael,” he said aloud. His sword was in his hand, for all the good it would do him. Archangels did not do battle with the foot soldiers of the host. Archangels swung their swords and their enemies fell. It was as simple as that.

“Gabriel showed herself for you,” Raphael said, studying him with the most curious expression Castiel had ever imagined on an archangel’s face. He certainly hadn’t had much actual interaction with them, until Gabriel.

“Ultimately unhelpful,” Castiel heard himself say. To blaspheme an archangel was surely the least of his sins.

“For you, perhaps.” Raphael had yet to draw a sword, but Castiel knew none was needed here. His own was a matter of comfort, nothing more. “Her interest was noted in this matter, but you were already marked. We’re only enforcing a foregone conclusion.”

Raphael didn’t use his name, Castiel noticed. Once upon a time, he would have assumed this was due to the difference in their stations. More recently, he might have wondered if Raphael even cared enough to know his name. And today?

Today, _he_ didn’t care.

“I am at peace with my fate,” Castiel said aloud. If Raphael killed him quickly enough, perhaps Dean would know enough to stay down. To make himself inconspicuous. To give Raphael a chance to be distracted, to disappear... to spare a human community so much more important than Castiel himself.

“Fuck that,” Dean’s voice said, from the direction of the front door. “You can get away from him any time now.”

Raphael didn’t so much as blink. “So this is the one you saved.” Observing what Castiel was sure had to be every nuance of his reaction to Dean. “That interference will be set right.”

“No,” Castiel blurted out. He shouldn’t, he couldn’t, he didn’t know why all of his logic had deserted him. There wasn’t any reason to provide Raphael with more information. There was every reason to keep his bias toward Dean as secret as he possibly could.

And yet he couldn’t.

The sound of a single gunshot made the air explode. He’d been listening too carefully; he didn’t flinch but the burst of noise was unsettling. It came again, and he knew: Dean. Stupid, foolish Dean.

He’d decided to open fire on an archangel.

Castiel had known he had a permit. He hadn’t known Dean carried a weapon. He doubted it was what Dean had stopped for, but there wasn’t any mistaking the bullet holes in Raphael’s appearance. They were fleeting, healed over almost immediately, but Raphael shot Dean an irritated look anyway.

“I know it doesn’t do anything,” Dean said, firing off another shot. “But hey, who knows. Maybe it’ll make me feel better.”

Raphael lifted a hand. With a small and casual wave, Dean’s gun flew out of his hand and his entire body slammed back into the wall. Castiel held himself in place with no small amount of willpower. He could do nothing for Dean but endanger him further and faster with any concern he expressed.

“He’s only the first,” Raphael told him. “They all have to go. Every one you’ve touched or helped or whatever you call your misguided attempt at taking over hell. Lucifer has no use for an angelic demon.”

“I don’t seek approval for my actions,” Castiel said. “But I see no reason to erase what has been painstakingly put back into place.”

“And I see no reason,” Dean muttered, “to make you late for your stupid meeting.” He was actually hauling himself up off the ground, glaring at Raphael while he did so.

Stay down, Castiel told him silently. Please. Just stay down.

Dean took a step forward, and Raphael lifted a hand once more.

He couldn’t watch Dean be flung across the yard, tossed like his human body was nothing – it was nothing, but it was precious, and he couldn’t look away. The flash of Dean’s soul was fierce and painful as it was set free, and the only comfort Castiel had was that he’d died instantly. The white washing the tree he’d been broken on crawled across the ground, seeping into the air, the glow creeping toward completion and release.

Toward its final resting place. A soul moving on. Why he had to watch in such agonizing slow motion he had no idea, but his perception of time had clearly been removed from his influence – as heaven would now do with Dean’s soul. Reclaimed, sent home, stolen from him and restored to a glory Castiel would never see again.

 _Dean,_ he thought. Cried. Cursed, sighed, screamed with everything he had. He’d given up, he couldn’t let go, the contradiction would tear him apart and it would be a mercy because otherwise he thought he might linger here in this moment forever.

 _Don’t go,_ he thought.

The explosion of grace was over and the morning went on. The winter sun shone cold and pale across the frozen ground, grass weirdly vibrant as he fell to his knees. Raphael’s sword was raised above his head, nothing of heaven able to understand that his punishment was already complete, and Dean was walking toward them.

He was seeing things, of course. He’d heard of it happening to humans: distortions, mirages, hallucinations of things that one wished to see. Not real.

Raphael’s blade came down.

The echoing clang sounded like bells, perfectly tuned and vibrating at a pitch all of heaven would hear. He waited for the pain through the numbness, for the tearing disruption of everything he was... for the end. To stop being aware. Oblivion was the only blessing left to him.

“Brother,” Dean’s voice said. “Back the hell off.”

Castiel lifted his head.

“Cas,” Dean added. “You okay?”

Two swords tumbled above his head, twined into something impossible. The light was too bright for him to see. Then Dean moved, Dean shifted, Dean was _there_ and the swords just weren’t.

“Dean,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “My bad. I really need to come up with better plans.”

“Michael,” Raphael said flatly.

“Surprise,” Dean’s voice said. It was even Dean’s body, but the soul was impossibly fused with a grace that hadn’t been there before. That had exploded out of – _somewhere_ – to remake Dean into the wielder of heaven’s highest power save God himself.

Anything that strong should have snuffed his soul without even noticing.

“You could have told us,” Raphael said.

“And miss the look on your face?” Dean asked. “You’re lucky Gabriel’s not here. She would have had a camera.”

“He’s interfering in human affairs,” Raphael said. “And you let this stand?”

“I like him,” Dean said. His tone was no longer amused, and Castiel thought that if he were human he would be telling Sam to mind his own business. “Go away now.”

Raphael didn’t hesitate. “Yes, Michael.”

Castiel couldn’t feel anything. He couldn’t be grateful that Raphael was gone, he couldn’t be angry that Michael was here. He didn’t even know how to be confused about the face Michael was wearing. He did notice that Sam’s car was parked behind Dean’s in the driveway, but it didn’t mean anything to him. It was over, and he was dead, and he wished he didn’t know it.

He wished.

He saw, in the back of his mind where his grace worried itself weak yearning for a heaven he could never touch, the shape of words. He heard the melody. He knew something so like the celestial choir he was cut off from that it made him dizzy with everything he couldn’t feel.

 _Can we pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars,_ the vertigo said. Sang. Pressed into music, muted and faltering and so very human. _I could really use a wish right now..._

“A wish right now,” he whispered.

“Cas,” Dean said. His voice was very soft, but Castiel knew.

 _What are you doing in my head!_ he shouted. _Get out get out get out!_

“I’m sorry,” Dean murmured. “It’s like I tricked you and I didn’t mean to, I never meant to, Cas. I just went and fell stupidly in love with someone who didn’t even know me. I didn’t know me. I did it on purpose, but I didn’t see you coming. I swear. I had no idea you’d be here.”

He jerked away from the light in Dean’s body, the terrible soothing sound of Dean’s voice. Nothing he did jostled the awareness at the back of his mind loose. Michael was still there. First among the angels. Second of God’s children, but the eldest still to rule in heaven.

He didn’t know how he could be this close to an archangel and not burn.

“I don’t hate Lucifer,” Michael said. “I don’t hate you. Don’t take this the wrong way or anything, but you’re nothing like him. ‘Fallen’ doesn’t mean what it used to, I can tell you that.”

“Dean,” Sam’s voice said. “You guys okay?”

“Cas isn’t,” Michael said. “Can you just... give us a second?”

“Yeah,” Sam said. He had Jess and Sarah with him. Castiel counted them lucky to have spared Mary, because surely Michael would destroy everyone here. “Sure.”

“Cas,” Michael repeated. Quietly, like Castiel was a dog he could gentle.

He was aware of Sam’s distant retreat. Castiel couldn’t warn him, he couldn’t warn any of them. But he might be able to make Michael reveal himself.

“I will never yield to you,” he told the ground. “There’s no reason to keep me alive when all I offer is insolence and disgust.”

“Cas,” Michael insisted. His all too human form sank to the ground in front of Castiel, looking painfully like Dean on the summer-green lawn. “Please. Forgive me.”

Castiel lifted his gaze, and he knew his stare was cold. “Don’t call me that.”

The angel who wore Dean’s face swallowed, and Castiel slammed a fist into his throat before he could think. A killing blow that didn’t even knock the wind out of Michael, making him blink and settle back as his expression twisted into something hurt. It was too much. Castiel lunged forward, bearing them both to the ground and doing his best to crush the grace out of Dean’s body.

He couldn’t, of course. Michael just looked up at him, bright and foreign and touched with Dean all over. The way he thought in song lyrics, the way his fingers curled against the grass, the imprint of his soul in fine lines over the superheated fusion of Michael’s grace.

He heard Sam yelling at them from some distance away. He saw the glare of Dean’s skin under the flash of his blade. “Kill me,” he told Michael. “Because I will never accept you.”

Michael didn’t move.

He couldn’t understand what Sam was saying, but he felt hands on his shoulders and he let them push him. He felt his sword fall into nothing, he felt the ground yield beneath his weight – no longer frozen, he realized at last. The snow was gone. He thought it was Jess to his right and Sam to his left, but all he could see was Dean.

Sitting up. Shrugging off Sarah’s help with a muttered assurance that he was fine. That it wasn’t Castiel’s fault. He stammered over the name, as though anything other than “Cas” was an alien language he didn’t know how to use.

Not hurting her. Not hurting any of them.

“Dean,” Castiel whispered.

Dean’s eyes met his, and his mouth formed the words, _I’m sorry._

“What’s going on?” Sam was asking. “Are you crazy? Where the hell did the swords come from? Who was that guy? What happened to Gabriel? Is she the sister, or was that just a code?”

“Are you okay?” Jess murmured in his ear. “Castiel?”

“No,” he said. “I’m – you can let me go.”

“You gonna slice us up if we do?” Sam demanded. “Where did your sword go?”

“Sam,” he said quietly. “I’m no threat to you.”

“I’m the problem,” Dean said. “Cas isn’t – Castiel isn’t gonna hurt anyone.”

“You’re the problem,” Sam repeated, his grip on Castiel’s shoulder easing. “That’s really funny, Dean. You want to tell us what’s going on?”

“You want to tell me what you’re doing here?” Dean countered. “How many different things can ‘family emergency’ mean when it comes to angels? Because ‘they’re gonna try to kill us, stay back’ is what I was going for.”

“It wasn’t the killing us part I had trouble with,” Sam snapped. “It was the staying back. For God’s sake, Dean, you and Castiel can’t just throw yourself in front of whatever comes along and hope for the best!”

“Actually,” Dean said, holding up his hand. “It wasn’t the worst plan.”

There was a cross in his hand. A tiny, even-sided, metal cross that glowed with the remnants of the explosion.

“Is that glowing?” Sam demanded.

Castiel turned slowly, into Sam, looking over his shoulder at the rest of the yard. It was completely free of snow. Blades of grass were straightening, unfolding from the weight of early winter and quietly greening in the sun. The tree where Dean had been thrown had buds on the end of every branch.

“Michael,” he said softly. “What did you do?”

“Fell,” Dean’s voice said.

Castiel turned back to face him, holding a gaze that reflected the light of the cross. Or made it. It was Michael talking to him, he had no doubt of that. But if Dean were dead, his soul would be gone. Not even an archangel could trap a soul like that. The way Dean’s was sinking into Michael’s grace – not burning, not melting, but...

Taking it over. Dean’s soul wasn’t melting into Michael’s grace because Michael’s grace was melting into Dean’s soul. Bolstering it, strengthening it, making it _more_ the way it was. Not less.

“I would have told you,” Dean said quietly. “I didn’t know.”

“You forgot,” Castiel said, and then he was shocked that the words had even come out. That he had been able to say them. That he was sitting here, talking to an archangel at all.

And the archangel was apologizing to him.

“What,” Sam said. He sounded irritated, and it was clear that he expected an answer this time. “What did you forget.”

“That he’s an angel,” Jess said.

“Was,” Dean corrected.

“Ha ha,” Sam said. “That’s hilarious. Look, are we in trouble here? Should we at least go inside, or... call someone, or something?”

“I don’t know if anyone’s noticed,” Sarah said, “but it’s suddenly springtime. Getting out of direct view of the road might not be a bad idea.”

“We’re safe, though,” Jess said. “Right? Dean told everyone to leave us alone.”

“Oh.” Dean put a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it awkwardly. “You got that, huh?”

Not his neck, Castiel realized. His shoulder blades. Dean was trying to ease the strain on his human body, possibly without noticing it was there. Could a human form even contain an archangel for longer than a few minutes?

“Are you serious about this?” Sam demanded. “Do something angelic.”

Before Castiel could so much as open his mouth, Michael’s wings burst free. The vague glow that had surrounded him coalesced abruptly into brilliant lines and curves that loomed over his head and spilled into disarray on the lawn behind him. “What,” Dean said, “like put up with you? Dude, I’ve been doing that my whole life.”

Sam was staring at him in shock. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” His gaze flicked to Castiel, then up over his head and back to Dean. “Are you serious?”

“You already asked that,” Dean said. “Which I would totally let go if you weren’t creeping... Castiel out.”

He got it on the first try this time, but Sam frowned, first at Dean and then back at Castiel. “I’m creeping _you_ out?” he repeated incredulously. “What does that mean?”

“It isn’t him,” Castiel blurted out. “It’s you.”

“Oh.” Dean looked so crushed that he wished he hadn’t spoken. “Right.”

“Um, is it rude to ask why he creeps you out now?” Sarah wanted to know. “I mean, I’m the first to admit I have no idea what’s going on. Angels? Is that a club or something? I’m seriously out of the loop, here, but I’m starting to think I’m the only one and if you all know what’s happening, then why is it weird?”

“You’re not the only one,” Sam told her.

At the same time, Jess said, “You’re definitely not the only one.”

“Okay,” Dean said. “Not everyone is at church, and Sarah’s right. Anyone who goes by is staring at us.”

“So make it so they don’t,” Sam said. “It’s warmer out here than it is inside.”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “That’s probably my fault.”

Sarah flashed him a thumbs-up. “I’m in favor of magical springtime. Keep it up.”

“We would have told you,” Jess told her. “But Castiel told Sam and Dean that knowing could get people killed. So we figured, at least we might be able to keep one of us safe.”

“Knowing _what_?” Sarah insisted. “They’re wizards? They’re the highlander? Who runs around making swords appear out of thin air?”

“They’re not out of thin air,” Castiel said. “They’re a manifestation of our grace. They were given to us by God that we might be his perfect warriors.”

“Like the wings,” Dean said. “Only not as cool.”

Castiel couldn’t look at him.

“Wow,” Sarah said, glancing from Sam to Jess. “Well. That sounds remarkably... cult-like.”

“I know,” Jess said with a sigh. She wrinkled her nose. “Religion. What are you going to do?”

“Okay, they have giant glowing wings!” Sam exclaimed. “What does that have to do with religion? Nothing!”

“They have what?” Sarah said.

“Sam can see their wings,” Jess said. “It kind of freaks him out.

“Sorry,” she added, giving Dean an oddly sympathetic look.

He just shrugged, but it was enough to make Castiel see him again. “Sucks to be king,” Dean said flippantly. His gaze cut to Castiel, who wanted, with sudden and alarming force, to throw himself at Michael again.

Not to hurt him. To be overwhelmed by him.

“Okay,” Dean continued. “I sort of feel like I should thank you for totally ignoring me and showing up here like the stalkers you are. But I’m not going to, because, hello, way to not help the situation at all. If Raphael wastes you for the fun of it, I can’t just bring you back. Do you get that? You’re gone. And you’re all gone together, hooray for you, but a lot of people down here are gonna cry, so.”

Castiel wasn’t so distracted that he didn’t know all three of them were staring at Dean. With possibly the same intensity he had, if for different reasons. Dean glanced around at them and sighed. “Look, all I’m saying is, try to outlive your parents. It’s the polite thing to do.”

“Dean,” Sam said. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m saying I need to talk to Castiel,” Dean told him. “I could tell you to scram, but that hasn’t worked since you were – actually, that never worked. So we’re gonna go inside, and you guys can stay out here where it’s warm and no one can see you, or you can go back to the church. Or go wherever you go on Sundays. I don’t really care as long as you stop following me.”

“Dean,” Sam repeated. “Except for the part where you were rude and... you, that... sounded an awful lot like goodbye.”

Dean snorted. “You wish,” he said. “We’re doing lunch, right? I’ll be there. I just need to talk to Cas first.”

“Really?” Sam sounded suspicious. “You mentioned lunch at church, too. Just before you took off, planning never to see any of us again.”

“Well, this time I mean it,” Dean said impatiently. “Here.” He tossed the little cross to Sam. By the time it touched Sam’s skin, the lingering glow was completely gone. “Key to my fancy grace storage system. Won’t leave without it. Cross my heart,” he added, when Sam frowned at him.

It wasn’t lost on Castiel that Sam looked to him for confirmation. “That’s probably true,” Castiel muttered.

“Even though he already has his grace back?” Sam insisted.

Castiel nodded once. It was still an object of power, with potential that someone other than an archangel might be able to tap. Michael wouldn’t want it to fall into the wrong hands.

“Fine,” Sam said, looking from one of them to the other. “Try not to get killed.”

“Hey, Sam,” Dean said, “if Raphael shows up again?” He gave his brother a smirk. “Pray for me.”

Sam gave him the finger, and the next thing Castiel knew he and Dean were standing on the other side of his mother’s front door. He turned his head to find Sam and Jess and Sarah still clustered outside. Wrapped up in winter clothes on a spring green lawn. He watched Sam reach out, and then Sarah, and then they were both hugging Jess and he didn’t understand but he wanted to.

He wanted to understand so much.

It wasn’t until he looked back at Dean that he realized Dean was watching him instead of them.

“Hi,” Dean said quietly. “Sorry to kidnap you. You can go if you want. Obviously.”

Castiel shook his head wordlessly.

“Okay,” Dean said. He took a deep breath, then let it out again. “Wow. I was going to say something, but all I can do is stare at you. You’re really bright.”

It took a moment before it occurred to Castiel that Dean meant this literally. With Michael’s sight, he would be able to perceive Castiel’s grace with a clarity no human could achieve. He should be able to see Castiel more clearly even than other angels... though it wasn’t like an archangel to bother.

“Castiel,” Dean said carefully. “I don’t want to – I mean, I...”

It was, for all that Dean always seemed to know what to say, strangely reassuring to see him stumble.

“You’re not the man I thought I knew,” Castiel said abruptly.

Dean seemed to wilt, troubled wings only making the slump of his shoulders more obvious. The way he tried to brace himself was even worse. “Yeah,” he said. “About that.”

“You never have been,” Castiel added. “Every day I knew you was a day I didn’t understand you. Today is... very much the same as yesterday, in that respect.”

“Yeah?” Dean repeated cautiously. “I mean, because, look. Here’s the thing. I fell in love with you, man, and I don’t know how that’s even possible because what does that feel like? I dunno, but no other way I could describe it even comes close, so it’s crazy and weird but I’m going with it. I fell in love and I’m still right there, okay? I think you’re, like, the best thing since anything.”

“You’re Michael,” Castiel said. Dean was brilliant, sparking with divinity and washed in the light of heaven. But he was still, more with each passing second, _Dean_. Only more.

“I guess,” Dean said with a sigh. “It’s like this thing I’ve always done, Cas. I wasn’t doing it when I met you, so I guess I didn’t think to mention it.”

“You couldn’t,” Castiel interrupted. “You made yourself forget. So you could live as a human. You’ve... Dean’s entire life?”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “I know. I’m trying to make an analogy, here.”

He seemed to get stuck there, and Castiel absolutely did not smile. “Don’t let my penchant for reality get in your way,” he said. “I’m sure drawing a human parallel will make it much clearer.”

“It does,” Dean insisted. Somewhat to his surprise. “Don’t you see that? Humans are so focused. I think not knowing stuff makes it easier for them to figure new things out. I mean, how often do we come up with a new idea? Never? And they’re like, ‘hey, we should beam music out into space!’ Why? That doesn’t even make sense, but then someone on another planet does a science project and bang, connection!”

“It’s a connection they’re unaware of,” Castiel murmured.

“What about roombas?” Dean countered. “Who needs a roomba? But you put a cat on one and suddenly the whole world is watching. Humans are awesome, man.”

Castiel tilted his head.

“Shut up,” Dean said. “That was a great explanation.”

“The relevance escapes me,” Castiel said.

“The relevance is that you’re gorgeous,” Dean said. “And I should not be allowed to run my mouth around you, but guess what? I’m the only one talking, so I’m just gonna say whatever I want. Which, for the record, is a terrible idea. But then, I’m not human anymore, so I guess that’s no surprise.”

“Dean,” Castiel said.

“Yeah?” Dean said.

“You’re Michael,” Castiel repeated. “You’re an archangel in human form.”

Dean shrugged. “All the cool kids are doing it?”

“Why?” he wanted to know.

“Why do you wander around earth helping people?” Dean countered. “Because I wanted to learn something? Because no one could tell me what humans dream about so I decided to find out for myself, I don’t know. I guess –”

He paused, then said more seriously, “It comes down to the fact that I made a choice, Castiel. Like you. And then there was no going back.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” Castiel said quietly.

Dean went very still. “About what?”

“About my name,” Castiel said. If he did this, Dean would take it as permission. As an allowance. As his agreement that Michael had the same claim on him that Dean did, and giving that power to an archangel...

“Oh?” Dean looked like he wanted to flinch. “Your – the way I shorten it? I shouldn’t; I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take the ‘god’ part out. I didn’t – Dean didn’t even know what it meant. I didn’t know what it meant, when I was human.”

Castiel paused. “You’re Dean.”

“Yeah,” Dean said quickly. “I just didn’t know.”

Castiel closed his eyes. “You can call me ‘Cas,’” he said. “I don’t like hearing you say my full name.”

There was a long moment of silence. He couldn’t avoid Dean’s attention; he felt it all over him even when he tried not to listen. If it was a song, he felt it vibrating through his skin instead of humming in his ears.

“Cas,” Dean said. His voice was soft and grateful, but he didn’t say _thank you_ aloud.

 _Yes,_ Castiel thought. He wasn’t sure this was what he wanted, but the curse of knowing he could choose was the knowledge that he had to. Once one decision was made, everything afterwards presented itself as one responsibility after another.

“If you want to go,” Dean said, “you know I won’t stop you, right?”

Castiel opened his eyes.

“You know I’m behind you,” Dean continued. “No one’s gonna hunt you anymore, so. Do what you have to do.”

“What –” He didn’t even know what to ask. “No. You can’t.”

Dean waited, but he didn’t know what for.

“Can’t what?” Dean said at last.

“Let me go,” Castiel blurted out. “I’m a traitor.”

“You’re not,” Dean snapped. “You can say it but that doesn’t make it true and I’ll never accept it. You’re the best of us. You’re the future, Cas. The future is always hard.”

Castiel could only stare at his vehemence. In his mind, he heard the echo of a battle that had banished the devil to hell. “Did you say ‘never’ to Lucifer?” he asked. He didn’t know why he said it. He shouldn’t ask, he shouldn’t provoke this being who could destroy everything he had found to care about.

“Yes,” Dean said without hesitation. “I said he would never stop being my brother, and neither will you.”

“Even in hell,” Castiel said. Because he didn’t know how Michael could be Dean. He didn’t know how Dean could love Sam and bless Castiel and then turn around and draw a line between heaven and hell.

“I didn’t throw him out, Cas.” Dean’s gaze was unwavering. “He walked away. You can walk away too; it won’t change anything.”

“Can I come back?” Castiel blurted out.

“Yes,” Dean said.

Castiel swallowed. “Can he?” He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

Dean stepped closer to him, bright wings and brighter eyes. “Yes.”

“If I stay,” Castiel whispered, “does that mean I’m in heaven?”

Unexpectedly, Dean laughed, and Castiel felt fingers ghost over his cheek. It was a very human touch, and he hadn’t seen it coming. “I guess that depends on your definition of heaven,” Dean said. “These analogies only go so far, you know.”

Castiel couldn’t go any further alone.

Dean seemed to understand, because his voice dropped and he murmured, “It’ll be heaven for me, Cas. If you stay. I don’t know if that helps, but it’s true.”

It helped.

“When you say ‘stay,’” he said softly. And then he was lost again.

“Here,” Dean said. “I fell, Cas; I made a choice. I made a commitment to this life. There are people here depending on me, and I don’t think heaven’s even noticed I’m gone.”

Castiel thought heaven had noticed, no matter what Gabriel said.

“I’m gonna live it out,” Dean said. “You don’t have to. You can go home; I’ll make sure of it. You can go back to heaven. You can stay on the road if you want, or you can go and come back. Or –”

He paused, like there was something strange about it. Castiel didn’t move.

“There’s a place for you here,” Dean said at last. “Obviously. But I know it’s not exactly... home.”

What he meant by “home” was anyone’s guess. Castiel wasn’t even sure Michael knew anymore.

“For you, anyway,” Dean said softly. “It kind of is for me.”

“Do you know what I’m thinking?” Castiel asked, and he didn’t know why he asked because of course he did. This was Michael. He could read the eddies of Castiel’s grace like a lie detector, like an empathic test of color and affinity.

“No,” Dean said.

He asked, Castiel realized, because he still didn’t know what Dean was going to say.

He looked away from Michael long enough to see everything through the window of Mary’s house. It should have looked dim compared to the archangel spilling light and grace over every sense he had, but somehow the grass was still growing. Even Sam and Sarah and Jess looked bright to his eyes.

“You’re going to live out Dean’s life,” he said to the window.

“I am Dean,” Michael told him. “I can spare a century or so.”

“What would Father think?” Castiel asked quietly. It was strange how now, after everything, that was what he thought to ask. That was what he wanted to know, despite all his bitterness and resignation to the contrary.

He wanted to know what Michael thought.

“Does it matter?” Dean asked. “Things change, Cas. We gotta go on without the things we knew before, so we’re gonna have to learn new things. And so far, I can tell you that the people who care that I’m here probably want me to stay.”

“That,” Castiel said, turning back to look at him, “is a difficult standard for me to use, as I’m relatively certain that most of the people who care where I am would sooner see me perish than stay.”

“There’s a difference between caring about a concept and caring about you,” Dean told him. He was standing very close. “I’m willing to bet that most of the people who were hunting you don’t even know who you are. I’m also gonna bet that most of the people who do know will side with me on the staying thing.”

Castiel was sure most of the people who knew who Michael was would side with him on whatever he wanted them to, but he supposed that wasn’t in the spirit of the argument. “I’ve heard gambling referred to as a sin,” he said instead.

The corners of Dean’s mouth quirked. “I’ve heard sex referred to as a sin. I think someone got confused. We shouldn’t have told them to put it all on one list.”

He hadn’t meant to smile, but he did. He could feel it. He couldn’t stop it and he didn’t want to.

“That makes me feel a lot better,” Dean told him. “You could bottle that.”

“Smiling?” Castiel guessed. Dean’s fingers were tracing his lips.

“You smiling,” Dean corrected. “Specifically.”

“I don’t think it would look the same in a bottle,” Castiel said.

“Can I kiss you?” Dean wanted to know.

“Can I stay with you?” Castiel countered.

Dean kissed him, and he decided that was answer enough.

 **13 December**

The power was still out on Monday. Dean took another personal day, partly because one of the two companies he was supposed to be at was shut down and partly because the middle and high schools were open but the elementary school wasn’t. So there were young kids with nothing to do, no older kids to help watch them, and a mismatched group of parents trying to keep up with them all.

Dean’s father let the daycare down the road relocate to the church pre-k rooms for the day. He had little to say to Castiel beyond the normal pleasantries of the day, but he and Dean seemed to remain on civil terms. Sam had told Mary everything – Dean maintained that she’d already known, an assertion which she didn’t correct – but John hadn’t joined them for lunch.

“He doesn’t,” Dean said. “We do dinner with him and lunch with her. It’s a thing.”

A thing that meant Mary, Sam, Sarah, and Jess were told to pray to St. Michael if they were ever in trouble, but Pastor John was not. Yet. He was at the church overnight, joined by Jeannie after she finished chores at the house, but absent either of his sons.

“We’re staying with friends,” Sam said Sunday night. “Campus got power back, and we figured a warm floor was better than a cold bed. Plus, bathrooms.”

Dean and Castiel stayed at the house. The only thing left at the Three Birds, it turned out, was Castiel’s car. His key had been mysteriously returned, bill paid, and the room cleared out. The car, of course, was packed, and Dean told him to bring it to the house.

“I’m not asking you to move in,” he said. “Well, I am. Please move in, Cas. But I can’t actually say that, because it’s Sam’s house too and he gets a say. Also, I’m a lot harder to live with than I am to stay overnight with, so we should probably talk about... stuff.

“But get your car out of the hotel lot,” he added, not pausing for a reply. “It’s not like they don’t know who it belongs to, right?”

So Castiel’s car stayed in Dean and Sam’s driveway while he accompanied Dean to the church, mostly as an additional chaperone for the field trip Dean had promised the daycare kids. When it had been just the youngest children, the day care coordinator had suggested a sleigh ride. There was a farm that had been running them constantly with the power out and everyone at a loss, and they agreed to fit the kids in.

When it became clear that the elementary kids’ parents would agree to help chaperone if they could put their own kids on the trip, they bundled up everyone who was at the church by ten and got them into cars. The farm wasn’t ready for them, but they were set up to entertain. The kids wandered around the petting zoo and the adults bought apple cider and Dean said that any day you could turn kids loose outside and let them yell as loud as they wanted was a good day.

There ended up being two sleigh rides. The younger kids got to go first – because they were small and would freeze first, Dean told the other kids – and he and Dean stayed behind to help with the elementary schoolers. By the time the day care kids got back, two of the elementary school kids had decided they didn’t want to go at all, so their parents helped drive the day care party back while Dean and Castiel followed directions for loading the sleigh.

The last child made room, and all the adults seemed to expect them to come, so Dean shrugged and climbed in after them. He offered Castiel a hand. Everyone moved down, and Castiel settled in on the end between Dean and the back of the sleigh. Sleighing blankets were spread, hand over hand, and Castiel felt the jerk of the horses before he realized they were being told to hold on.

It was a tame, gentle ride over steadily melting snow, icy breeze on exposed skin mitigated by the warmth of the people packed in around him. Someone who wasn’t Dean led the kids in singing “You Are My Sunshine,” and Castiel smiled out at the fields. He thought maybe this was better for children than whatever they were learning in school anyway.

“Nature’s classroom,” Dean whispered in his ear. “We should lose the power more often.”

“You won’t think so when you’re trying to light the stove by flashlight this evening,” Castiel murmured back.

“Yeah, I’m tired of canned stuff,” Dean said. “Let’s go out tonight. Enough places have power back that they’re not swamped; let’s just drive until we find food.”

“Dean,” one of the kids on his other side said. “Sing with us.”

“Yeah, what are we singing?” Dean asked.

“Sesame Street!” a girl from the other side of the sleigh exclaimed, and three more children immediately disagreed while one of the adults tried to referee and another asked which Sesame Street song she was talking about. Castiel watched Dean wade into the fray on the girl’s behalf.

“My name is you,” Dean said. “That’s it, right, Kebby?”

“Yes,” she said loudly. “That’s my favorite song.”

She looked considerably younger than the other children in the sleigh, Castiel noted. She was small, though. He could tell she was older than she appeared. She didn’t seem to have a parent associated with her, but she held her own among the other children. They didn’t complain after Dean figured out what song it was, and Kebby didn’t back down.

“I don’t know that one,” one of the other adults said, and Dean elbowed Castiel.

“Think you can help me on this one?” he asked. Then, more quietly, he said, “Cheat if you have to?”

“Of course,” Castiel said.

“Okay,” Dean said, putting his arm around the boy next to him. “We do this one at church, remember? Everyone who knows it, sing loud! My hair is black and red, my hair is yellow –”

“My eyes are brown and green and blue,” Castiel added, because he’d never seen Sesame Street but he was an angel. He could get the words of a children’s song for a good cause. “My name is Jack and Fred, my name’s Amanda Sue, I’m called Kareem Abdul, my name is you.”

Dean was grinning at him. The boy next to Dean and the girl across from him were singing along confidently, joined by one of the other adults – somewhat less confidently – and two of the other kids. Between the seven of them, they managed to carry it.

“I live in southern France, I’m from a Texas ranch, I come from Mecca and Peru. I live across the street, in the mountains, on the beach, I come from everywhere and my name is you.”

The chorus was next, and Castiel thought some of the children would remember it the second time. He was surprised, though, that two of them joined in the first time through. Both of them children who had complained about singing a Sesame Street song in the first place.

“We all sing with the same voice,” they called loudly. “The same song, the same voice! We all sing with the same voice and we sing in harmony!”

Judging by the smiles two of the other chaperones exchanged, this was not entirely true. Castiel found that he couldn’t really tell – children’s voices were so similar, and some of them weren’t really singing at all. They just yelled or chattered along, and Dean encouraged them to swing from side to side, which seemed to enthuse the ones who weren’t singing. To the point where they added, “La la la!” whenever they could make it sound like the melody.

Even when they couldn’t. He could tell, he reminded himself. Dean just didn’t care, and trying to get the words from his mind brought with it a certain amount of... crossover.

“Sometimes I get mad and mean, sometimes I feel happy,” the children sang. “And when I want to cry I do.”

“When I’m by myself at night,” and Dean was particularly loud on this one – Castiel couldn’t help smiling, “I hold my teddy tight until the morning light, my name is you!”

The girl Dean had called Kebby pulled off one of her mittens for the next line, holding up fingers as though she’d been taught: “I have sisters one two there, in my family it’s just me! I’ve got one daddy, I’ve got two.”

Dean leaned back and put his other arm around Castiel, pulling him into the sway with the kids.

“Grandpa helps me cross the street,” they sang. “My cat walks on furry feet, I love my parakeet, my name is you!”

Almost everyone joined in when they started the chorus again. Possibly because it was so easy. Or possibly because they drew it out: the children seemed intent on making each of the words as long as possible. Dean got louder to bring them back, and Castiel would have helped except that the one other adult who knew the song was already doing it.

“I like to run and climb! I like to sit and read!” By then the kids were back on board, and they all shouted, “I like to watch my TV too!

“And when it’s time for bed,” Dean sang, just as loudly while some of the kids trailed off or mumbled, “I like my stories read, ‘sweet dreams’ and ‘love you’ said... my name is you.”

They came back for the chorus. Even the kids who hadn’t sung at all made noise the last time, and the adults were swaying along with them. While the kids were hamming it up and just before the adults went on to “Puff the Magic Dragon,” Dean leaned over and whispered, “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Castiel murmured, smiling to himself. On the list of angelic abilities Dean deemed acceptable for use in everyday human life, “hot running water” was a no but “helping a kids’ singalong” was a yes.

He thought he might understand Dean’s priorities after all.

 **14 December**

The elementary school reopened on Tuesday. The center of town had power again: the church could run water and heat at the same time, and the safety complex – home to paid police and volunteer firefighters – opened its doors to people needing water, heat, and limited cooking facilities. The last of the roads closed by downed trees and power lines reopened, gas was readily available, and the first of a fresh wave of generators arrived in nearby stores.

Dean went back to work. Castiel, at Dean’s suggestion and with Sam’s blessing, piled his bags inside Dean’s room so it wouldn’t look like he was driving around with no place to live. Then he went to find Allan.

 **15 December**

John and Jeannie hosted dinner by candlelight Wednesday night. Dean still hadn’t told him about the angelic showdown on his mother’s lawn, and Castiel no longer saw any indication that he was planning to. John didn’t ask, except to inquire after Castiel’s safety in town.

Minimally, gruffly, he asked, “You keeping safe?”

Castiel told him yes. Dean told him they’d cleared up a misunderstanding. Jeannie said they were glad to hear that, leading Castiel to wonder exactly what – if anything – John had told her. John just smiled and passed them some more potatoes.

 **16 December**

At 7:42 Thursday evening, the lights came back on at Dean and Sam’s house. No one was there to notice, since Sam was out caroling with Sarah while Dean and Castiel were trying to agree on a movie. Dean had declared that digital downloads were for important things, and also for people who had power, and that standing in the aisle of one of the few remaining movie rental places and arguing over what to watch was a quintessentially human experience.

Castiel pointed out that watching DVDs was also for people who had power, and that in addition to a movie they would require popcorn.

“Good call,” Dean said. “We’re gonna have to restock.”

“And do laundry,” Castiel remarked.

“Tomorrow,” Dean said firmly. “We’re taking tonight off.”

Castiel reached out to touch his wrist, turning his arm over so Dean’s watch was visible. Seven days since the ice storm had decimated the region. Six since Dean’s death hadn’t happened. Five days since he’d realized he wasn’t going to leave, and four since Dean had given him the chance to stay.

“It’s seven-fifty,” he said quietly.

“Great,” Dean said with a grin. He tugged his arm back carefully, letting his fingers slide through Castiel’s before releasing his hand. “Let’s go home.”


End file.
